


Matched

by jbxby003



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Forced Marriage, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut, Themes of Depression/Anxiety, Therapy, dramione - Freeform, marriage law, themes of ptsd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29363034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jbxby003/pseuds/jbxby003
Summary: Home to books and home again. Therapy on Sundays. This was Hermione’s routine and she did a damn good job of sticking to it. That is until the Ministry decided to invoke a centuries-old law that upended said routine.This fic takes place post-Battle of Hogwarts about 4 years later.*I do not own any of JKR's characters (duh), and this work is inspired by another Marriage Law fic I saw on AO3, but I can't remember the title or author and I'm having a hard time finding it!*
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 32
Kudos: 218





	1. Minx's Bookstore

Hermione jumped as the bell above the door chimed. She thought she had gotten used to it, but at moments like these with her back turned and her nose in a book, it caught her off guard. 

"Can I help you?" The words were out of her mouth before she turned and realized it was Ginny who walked in, wet from the rain outside. 

"Oh. You know you can cast a charm that prevents the rain from soaking your clothes, right? Or I dunno, maybe invest in an umbrella?" Hermione chuckled at Ginny's dripping hair. 

"I like to feel the rain on my skin, you know that. A drying charm after works just as well." Ginny pulled out her wand and muttered the charm to prove her point. She wordlessly cleaned the mess her boots left on the floor behind her as well. 

Hermione smiled and shook her head, "I get it. Little things like that make you feel a bit more... alive." 

"Anyway, I just wanted to stop by to check on you. Haven't heard from you since Monday," Ginny said, picking up a book but not really looking at it. It was Saturday, the last day of the workweek for Hermione. After the war ended, she started working for Mathias Minx who owned a small bookshop called "Minx Bookstore." The obscurity of the shop fit Hermione perfectly. Now that the horrors of the war had settled, Hermione went out of her way to detach herself from society. It was the only way to cope, though her therapist disagreed. 

Hermione worked Monday through Saturday each week and went to therapy on Sundays. She pulled some strings to get that Sunday session knowing her therapist only saw clients Monday through Friday. This was the only time she really used her fame to get what she wanted, and she felt guilty about it but allowed herself that one luxury. Sunday sessions ensured she wouldn't run into anyone she knew. 

Hermione had effectively cut herself off from the world save a handful of people with whom she kept contact. She canceled her subscription to the Daily Prophet and, to Luna's dismay, the Quibbler. She stopped going to the public library, stopped going to the galas put on by the Ministry as a means to boost morale in the wizarding world, and even stopped volunteering for the Centaur Initiative facilitated by the Department of Magical Creatures. 

The only people she saw on a regular basis were her therapist, Minx, Harry, Ginny, and the patrons of Minx Bookstore. She knew she was withdrawing, but it made healing easier. 

Ginny was now staring at Hermione, who had been lost in thought. 

"Right, sorry, I've been busy here at the shop. Minx has been sick so I've been working some of his shifts." Hermione offered. It was a weak excuse, but Ginny took it anyway. Before she could ask another question, Hermione asked, "How's quidditch?" 

Ginny was the owner of the "Weasley Quidditch Association," a youth traveling quidditch program she started about a year after the war ended. She started the program in order to prepare young witches and wizards for quidditch at Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and other wizarding schools across Europe. The association was so successful, she was able to put together a summer league for players who already play for their school teams. Others followed suit all around the world, and there were now enough programs to organize tournaments. Ginny, having paved the way for youth quidditch around the world, had been on the cover of "Witch Weekly" quite a few times. Her program was well known in the quidditch world. 

"It's been good. We had a solid season last year and that publicity brought in enough players to form another 8&under team. I'll have to find another coach, but that shouldn't be a problem. I'm thinking of putting together another apparel order, people have been asking for crewnecks...." Ginny rambled while Hermione sorted books to be put away. "Oh! You'll never believe this: Zabini wants to sponsor my program." 

Hermione stopped sorting, "What?" She hadn't heard that name in years. Not since the war. "What do you mean, 'sponsor your program?'" 

"Exactly like it sounds, he wants to sponsor us. You know, "Zabini's Brooms?" Ginny raised her eyebrows at Hermione. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows, obviously still lost. 

"Oh, honestly Mione, do you not read the Prophet?" Ginny said exasperated. 

"No, actually, I don't." Hermione folded her arms to her chest defensively, "I canceled my subscription a while ago." 

Ginny looked surprised at this, "You did? Mione, you can't keep cutting yourself off like that, what does your therapist think about it?"

"I didn't realize you were my mother. My therapist doesn't know, but it doesn't matter anyway. It's not a big deal, it's just a bloody paper." Hermione rolled her eyes and began sorting books again.

"Well, if you read the Prophet, you'd know Blaise Zabini opened a quidditch shop that specializes in the production of brooms. They're high-end, quite good quality," she explained. Ginny paused, her brows knitting together. "Wait, Mione, he opened that shop over a year ago. You've really been out of the loop for that long?" 

Hermione thought for a moment, had it really been that long?

"I guess I didn't realize," she admitted, her head hung low, focusing on the books. 

"Please talk to your therapist about this, Mione... Harry and I are worried about you. We love you." Ginny smiled sadly at her long-time friend.

"I'll be seeing him tomorrow. I'll mention it." Hermione offered. "I need to get back to work. I'll owl you." She turned and started walking to the history shelves, the sorted stacks of books floating along behind her. 

-

Hermione woke Sunday morning to her 7 o'clock alarm. Wiping the sleep out of her eyes, she yawned and trudged toward the bathroom to start getting ready for the day. 

Her sessions were at 10 am each week, and she decided today would be a good day to have lunch afterward with Harry and Ginny. At home, of course. She sent her owl, Tilly, with the message. 

Hermione went about her usual Sunday morning business. She showered, made herself breakfast, fixed her hair, and added a bit of mascara. She dressed in muggle clothing, a comfort she became accustomed to no matter how many magical folks shot her odd glances at Minx's. Pulling a book from her floor to ceiling shelf, she sat on her couch and read until it was time to leave. 

Her therapist's office wasn't really an office at all. Hermione met with him in his home, something she took great comfort in. 

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson." Hermione greeted as she stepped through his threshold. 

"Hermione, how many times do I need to tell you? Call me Vic." Dr. Victor Wilson had been practicing as a therapist for 10 years when Hermione was introduced to him. He was a tall, thin man, with greying hair and little wire glasses that sat low on his nose. 

Hermione nodded and waited for him to close the door and lead her toward the sitting room. There was tea waiting for them. 

"So, tell me how you've been." Dr. Wilson began pouring their tea, fixing up Hermione's with two scoops of sugar and a dash of honey. He had gotten to know her quite well over the course of the last year. After the war ended, Hermione hadn't sought out help like she probably should have. Harry and Ginny seemed to be acclimating to "normal" life just fine, what with Ginny's quidditch program being so successful and Harry's job as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor going as well as it was. Ron had joined the Chudley Cannons as Keeper, and he too seemed to be adjusting to life just fine. It took some convincing on Harry's part to get Hermione to see someone about her obvious struggle with PTSD and anxiety. Harry had seen one of Dr. Wilson's colleagues for ten weeks post-war, and now only had sessions once every month as a "check-in." Hermione wasn't doing quite as well. 

"I've been good." Hermione nodded, taking the cup from Dr. Wilson with a polite smile. It always took Hermione a moment or two to warm up and dig in during her sessions. She coasted on small-talk topics as long as she could and kept her answers short and polite. "How are you?" she asked him. 

"I've been just fine, thank you." He gave her a knowing smile, understanding he'd have to probe more to get the session going. "Tell me about your week, what have you been up to since I last saw you?

"Well... I worked. Minx has been out sick, so I picked up the majority of his shifts," she offered meekly, sipping her tea. 

"Right, so how many hours did you work, then?" Dr. Wilson inquired. 

"Around... 60 hours?" A lie. She had worked at least 75, and she knew Dr. Wilson could tell. He didn't berate her, though. 

"Okay. Tell me, when you weren't working, what did you do for you?" He prompted. 

"Well, when I got home for the bookstore, I usually had dinner and went straight to bed."

Dr. Wilson raised his eyebrows and sipped his tea, indicating he would wait for her to continue as he was evidently displeased with her answer. 

"Oh, um, I read a book this morning," Hermione smiled. This had to be what he was hoping to hear from her. 

Dr. Wilson sighed and set his teacup and saucer down on the side table. 

"Hermione, I'm glad you took time for yourself this morning. However, when we met last week, I tasked you with doing something for yourself once every day. For at least a half-hour. Step one is blocking out the time in your schedule for a hobby. Get into that routine. Step two is blocking out time to self-reflect. I understand that taking the time out of your day to be by yourself is intimidating. You're alone with your thoughts, alone with your feelings. Work isn't there to distract you. But, that's the point."

Hermione nodded, she knew he was right. That didn't make it easy, though. 

"I'll focus on that more this week." Hermione didn't like feeling like she was disappointing him. She remembered her owl to Ginny and Harry about lunch. "Oh, I am going for lunch with Harry and Ginny today."

"Good, going out for lunch will be a good change. That's a good step forward." Dr. Wilson smiled. Hermione realized she had implied they were going OUT to eat but didn't correct him. If she wanted to move forward in this journey toward normalcy, she would have to start doing things like going out to eat with friends instead of staying in. She settled on sending Ginny a follow-up owl to suggest a lunch out instead. 

"So, how have you been sleeping? Tell me about the nightmares."

\- 

Hermione left the session feeling worn and emotional. She never cried during her sessions, but the feeling of vulnerability left her physically and emotionally exhausted. She thought about canceling lunch altogether, needing the afternoon to recuperate. Not wanting to disappoint Dr. Wilson, she sent Ginny an owl suggesting a lunch out despite herself. 

Not five minutes before she was to leave for the restaurant, she heard Tilly return, a letter in her beak. 

"Mione, we would have loved to go out, but we think lunch in would be better.  
We have news.  
-G & H"

Her anxiety sky-rocketed. Surely something was wrong, or they would have jumped at the opportunity to go out with her. She paced in her living room waiting for their arrival.

Not ten minutes later and the floo roared to life. Ginny walked into the living room followed by Harry. 

"What's wrong?" Hermione demanded immediately. 

"We figured you'd want to get right to the point," Harry said, nervously scratching his neck. Ginny smiled apologetically, "Let's sit," she said. 

"Who's dead? Is someone dead? Not Ron- or Luna?" Hermione rambled, invasive thoughts running wild in her mind.

"No, no one is dead," Ginny assured her, "This may be a bit of a shock." 

"This morning's Prophet covered a story on a new law being invoked," Harry began, "It's insane, just bloody insane..." He scratched his neck again nervously and looked to Ginny for help. 

"I'm not a child, just tell me." Hermione looked between the two. 

"Okay, it's a marriage law," Ginny said slowly, gauging Hermione's expression for any sign of panic. 

"Okay....? I'm not married," Hermione said, confused. "But you guys are, does this affect you? What exactly does this law 'do'?" 

"No, Harry and I are.. 'safe' so to say. It's a marriage law that matches people. Single people. Here, look at the Prophet." Ginny handed the paper to Hermione. 

Hermione's hands were shaking as she read, not really processing anything the article said. It mentioned things like a "significant drop in magical offspring" and "magical bloodline preservation," but it still wasn't making sense. 

"I don't understand," Hermione said, skimming through the article again. 

"Harry is planning on meeting with Shacklebolt, partly to get some answers, but also because Shacklebolt requested to see him and I specifically. But from what we gather from the article and what we've heard from others, single witches and wizards between nineteen and thirty years old will be matched based on compatibility," Ginny explained. 

"Matched? What the hell kind of dystopian society shit is this?" Ginny's eyebrows shot up, she hadn't heard Hermione swear in years. Her usual composure disappeared and replaced with anger and fear. 

"We really don't know much else besides that, Mione, but when we meet with Shacklebolt-" 

"I'm coming with," Hermione asserted. 

"Wait, really? You don't have to. I mean- if it's too much for you-" Harry started.

"No, I'm going with, and I'm getting answers for myself. When are you meeting with him?" 

"Tomorrow. 2 pm at the Ministry," Ginny said, grinning at Hermione. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Hermione demanded, obviously annoyed. Now was not the time. 

"It's just good to see you like this," Ginny said.

"Frightened? Angry? What the hell, Gin?" She threw her hands up, exasperated. 

"No, determined. Willing to do what needs to be done. I haven't seen this Hermione in years, but I knew she was in there," she said, smiling again. "We'll get answers. We'll do what we can. Harry and I will meet you outside the ministry at quarter to two." 

With that, Ginny and Harry left Hermione to have lunch by herself knowing she'd need the space to think, to plan.


	2. Hopeless

Hermione apparated just outside the Ministry at exactly 1:42. Harry and Ginny showed shortly after at 1:50. They began their walk into the building, the lobby almost empty as most people had already returned from their lunch breaks and were back in their offices. 

"Were you able to find out anything else about this?" Hermione asked Harry. 

"No, not many people know any details besides what was released to the press," Harry replied. 

Hermione sighed as the elevator took them to Shacklebolt's floor. They stepped off, Harry and Ginny ahead of Hermione. 

"Hi, we have a 2 pm appointment to see the Minister," Harry told the secretary. 

"Of course, he's ready for you. Please follow me to the conference room." 

The four of them set off, the secretary leading them to a well-lit conference room with a long mahogany table. Shacklebolt was standing with his back to the door, looking out the floor to ceiling window that lined the far wall. Upon hearing them enter, he turned to greet them. 

"Ah, Harry, Ginny, thank you for joining me. And Miss Granger, I didn't know you'd be coming as well. Welcome." He nodded politely at her. 

"Yes, I hope it's alright we brought Hermione with us. We all have questions." Harry shook Shacklebolt's hand. 

"Of course," he said, shaking Ginny and Hermione's hands as well, "Please, sit."

The three of them sat across from the Minister, waiting patiently for him to settle in his seat so they could begin their discussion. 

"So, let's start with your questions," Shacklebolt said. 

Hermione didn't hesitate, "Please explain this ‘law’ that you're commencing. The purpose, the plan of action, the rationale, all of it." Her jaw set in annoyance. 

"Well, as you may have gathered from the press release in the Daily Prophet, the Department of Magical Census and the Department of Magical Bloodlines have brought to our attention the state of the magical population. We have a dilemma. We, as a society, are not producing enough magical offspring to preserve magical bloodlines. That being said, we are invoking a centuries-old law in order to preserve these magical bloodlines as best we can." 

"On whose orders, yours?" Harry asked.

"The Wizengamot's. I want you all to keep in mind that I do not agree with them, but I understand the decision," Shacklebolt offered. 

"Okay, so what does the execution of the law look like? What happens?" Hermione demanded. 

"We'll have a matching banquet. At the beginning of the banquet, every single person between the ages of 19 and 30 will put their names into the Goblet of Betrothal. The Goblet's inner workings are similar to that of the Goblet of Fire that you are so familiar with Harry, save a few changes we made. The Goblet has been tweaked to produce the most ideal pairings. It takes into consideration personality, age, abilities, bloodlines, and makes its decision based on overall compatibility as well. It's foolproof, we have our best witches and wizards on the case." 

Hermione’s eyes went wide with shock, "This is entirely unethical, you realize that, right?" her voice rose and her fists balled under the table, "You're taking away our right to choose." 

"We are running out of options.” Shacklebolt almost looked apologetic.

"Show me the numbers. I want to see data." Hermione extended her hand, waiting. Ginny shot Harry a look, amused despite the predicament they were in. 

Shacklebolt obliged, sliding a manilla folder into Hermione's hands. "You're not entirely qualified to be seeing these numbers right now, but they'll be public knowledge soon anyway." 

"Well thank Merlin you at least have the decency to keep the public informed," Ginny retorted. 

Hermione skimmed the data, running her own numbers in her head. Shacklebolt was right, things weren't looking good. But this law? Taking the right to choose away? 

"Minister, I understand these numbers are bad, but there has to be another solution," Hermione insisted. 

"I'm afraid there's not. This is the most ideal solution for our predicament. Now, on to other matters,” he effectively cut Hermione’s rebuttal off, “Harry, Ginny, I contacted you because you will be the face of this movement. As you two are already married, you will not be participating. You will, however, be "hosting" the banquet. You'll call out names as the Goblet offers them, and congratulate couples as they're paired. Given your fame, people will be more likely to support this decision. Keep in mind that I'm informing you, not asking you. The Matching Banquet will be held in two week's time. Do you have any questions?" Shacklebolt asked.

"Are you even the least bit remorseful?" Hermione asked, though she knew Shacklebolt hadn't been speaking to her. 

"Of course, Miss Granger. Do try to see the light in this grim time. It will be good to see you out in society again." Hermione couldn't help but feel like she was being talked down to. She decided at that moment that she hated Shacklebolt. What good is a Minister if they can't advocate for the good of their people? 

Hermione's flaring rage was abruptly replaced with a wave of anxiety. She'd have to attend a banquet. Not only that, she'd be matched at said banquet. Matched to a man. A man who was to be her husband. A stranger. Or worse, maybe someone she knew. She was not ready for this. 

Rising from her seat, she left the room swiftly and silently, rode the elevator down to the main lobby, and walked out of the building before apparating home. Stepping out of the floo, she broke. Her chest heaved, tears pricked her eyes threatening to escape, and a sob broke through her panting breath. She held onto the mantle of her fireplace for balance as she attempted to slow her breathing. 

See: Couch, fireplace, chair, books, glass of water  
Touch: Mantle, carpet, wall, bracelet  
Hear: Crackling floo, A/C running, an owl at the window  
Smell: The wax burner she left on, clean laundry  
Taste: tears

She repeated the words and worked through the technique as she steadied her beating heart and calmed her breathing. 

Oh, the owl at the window. Hermione walked toward the bird attempting to claw its way in and took the letter from its beak before giving it a treat. 

"Hermione, please see me before our next Sunday session regarding the news in the Prophet. I have availability Wednesday at 1 pm, and Thursday and Friday between 10 am and 1 pm. - Vic"

Thankful for such a thoughtful therapist, Hermione sent an owl back immediately scheduling an appointment for Wednesday at 1 pm. 

Her hands shook as she closed the window behind the owl. She took slow, steadying breaths as she walked to the kitchen to start some tea. 

-

“Hermione, come in.” Vic opened the door and extended his arm. 

“Thank you for meeting with me,” said Hermione, “I know it’s uncommon to schedule an emergency session like this.”

“Of course. Given the circumstances, I thought it necessary.” Dr. Wilson led her into the sitting room, tea ready for them. “Let’s get right to it, then. The Prophet came out with a press release about the new Marriage Law. How are you feeling about that?” 

Hermione didn’t know where to begin. Her throat started closing, tears threatening to emerge, but she kept her face straight. Crying isn’t something she willingly did in front of others. She knew she had her issues, her struggles with PTSD and panic attacks, but she wasn’t weak. 

“I-” she cleared her throat before continuing, “I’m having a hard time processing things. I understand the severity of the situation, but knowing that I will be directly affected by it is hard to come to terms with. I thought of what it meant for me for a brief moment, and I had a panic attack. I’ve avoided thinking about it since.” 

“Right. In a sense, detaching yourself from the situation is a way to cope. However, it’s not constructive. So let’s start with working through what this all means for you, specifically. We’ll go from there.” Dr. Wilson sipped his tea before setting it down and grabbing a quill and parchment. 

“Okay. I should mention, I actually went with Harry and Ginny to the Ministry to speak with the Minister,” Hermione said, stirring her tea before taking a sip herself. 

“Oh?” Dr. Wilson’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “That’s wonderful. How did that go?” 

“Well, I didn’t see many people. The meeting itself went horribly, but not because I had an anxiety attack or anything. Just the content of the meeting was so… horrid.” She shook her head and looked down, remembering the atrocity. 

“Tell me what you know. After that, we’ll connect those details to how they affect you personally.”

Hermione told Dr. Wilson everything. She ran through the data with him, explained the rationale behind the decision (even though it was ludicrous), and told him about the Goblet of Betrothal.

“And Shacklebolt isn’t even doing anything about it!” Her voice had slowly risen during her explanation, and she was now pacing with her hands flailing as she expressed her frustration. “I mean, how fucking useless can you be?” 

Her eyes widened when she realized she swore. “I’m sorry, I need to calm down.” She sat with her hands in her lap.

“It’s quite alright. This is a normal reaction to something as… ridiculous as this. I’m in complete agreement with you.” Dr. Wilson was fighting back a smile. “I do have to say, it’s good to see you so passionate, although I wish it were under different circumstances.” 

Hermione smiled and sipped her tea again, now slightly cold. She cast a warming charm.

“What good is passion if there’s nothing I can do about it?” Hermione said solemnly.

“Now that we have the details, let’s start with what we can control about this situation.” Dr. Wilson said. 

“Again, nothing?” Hermione answered. 

“Not entirely nothing,” Dr. Wilson smiled at her, “You can control yourself. To an extent, obviously, because if this law is enacted, and it sounds like it will be, you’ll have to abide by that. I want to make a sort of ‘game-plan’ with you. If this banquet is held, and if you are matched, you’ll be expected to marry. Have you thought about that at all?”

“Very briefly, yes. I can’t decide if marrying a stranger or marrying someone I know is worse. This is just so insane to think about, they’re forcing marriage.” Hermione shook her head for what seemed like the millionth time.

“They are. Do you have any other friends that are in this situation? Someone you can connect with?” Dr. Wilson asked. 

“Not anyone I’m close to anymore.” Hermione hung her head, realizing the weight of her isolation and how it was entirely her own fault. She was alone in this. 

“It doesn’t have to be like that. Reach out, find someone who relates to you, to this.” Dr. Wilson said. 

Hermione nodded. 

“Hermione, I understand how hopeless this may seem. But have you considered any other options?” Dr. Wilson asked suddenly, putting his quill and parchment away.

“Other options? Like what?” Hermione knit her eyebrows together, confused. 

“This is not the first time you’ve dealt with adversity. You have faced much worse than this, death itself, and come out on top. I am not encouraging you to break any laws, however, I would and do encourage you to fight this. You are the brightest witch of your age, as they say, and there has to be a loophole. A way to stop this. If anyone can figure it out, it’s you. You have the passion to do it. You can change things for yourself, and for others around you. I tasked you with finding someone to reach out to for support, yes, but also in the hopes that you’ll find someone to help you take this law down.” 

Hermione absorbed his words, realizing this may not be as hopeless as she had thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, I hope you're enjoying the story so far! Let me know how you're feeling about things in the comments! Happy reading! :)


	3. Brief Reunion

“The Marriage Law will come into effect on Saturday, August 3, 2002. On this day, we will hold the first Matching Banquet, which will take place every five years until the preservation of magical bloodlines is successfully secured. Witches and wizards between the ages of nineteen and thirty who are not already engaged or married will be subject to put their names into the Goblet of Betrothal. The Goblet will take into consideration the personality, ability, blood status, and overall compatibility of each witch and wizard in order to produce the most ideal magical offspring. Once paired, the couples will receive a ‘Matching Ring’ as a sign of their magical bond. The rings must be worn in public at all times to signify this bond to others. Matches are encouraged to wear their rings at all times, but may take them off in the privacy of their own homes. The sanctity of the Matchings are to be held in the highest respect and are not to be broken by either the Matches, or an outside party. The Matches are required to join together and reside in a single household of their choosing. Matches are required to become pregnant within two years' time unless medically unable to. In this case, Matches will be rematched in the next Matching Banquet, although proof of infertility must be provided. This is to ensure the preservation of magical bloodlines. Witches and wizards that are already married and between the ages of nineteen and thirty are also required to become pregnant within two years time of the most recent Match Banquet. Happy Matching!”

Hermione’s head was reeling. The official press release in the Prophet was staring her in the face, almost mocking her. 

“‘Happy Matching,’ what a load of bollocks,” she threw the paper down on the coffee table and leaned forward with her head in her hands. 

She had re-subscribed to the Prophet to stay on top of things and to try and come up with a plan as Dr. Wilson had suggested. So far, she had nothing. Today’s date was July 31, Harry’s birthday. Ginny had suggested Hermione accompany them to the Leaky to celebrate, and Hermione agreed under the circumstance that they would help her brainstorm how to go about doing this. They were to arrive at her place within the next five minutes, so Hermione went about preparing tea. 

As scheduled, the floo roared to life and Harry and Ginny walked through. 

“Hey, Mione! I’m so excited you’ve agreed to come to the Leaky with us.” Ginny embraced her, squeezing her tightly. 

Ginny was one of the only people she allowed to touch her like this. Being confined in hugs caused feelings of claustrophobia and being restrained. The feeling was reminiscent of being held down on the floor of Malfoy Manor by Bellatrix Lestrange. 

“Yeah, of course. Happy birthday, Harry.” Hermione smiled at Harry, who beamed at her. 

“Thanks, Hermione. I should tell you,” his face growing apologetic, “Ron will be joining us tonight.” 

Ron. It had been over a year since she’d seen him. 

“Oh, it’ll be good to see him,” Hermione said, not entirely enthusiastic, but trying not to sound anxious about it either. “How has he been?”

“He’s been going, still playing quidditch like usual,” said Ginny. He’ll be staying in town for the next couple of days with Mum.” 

Hermione felt like an idiot, it hadn’t crossed her mind that Ron might be part of the Matching. 

“Oh, for the Matching? Will he have to take part in it?” Hermione asked, trying to sound disinterested. She and Ron hadn’t worked out, not since he traveled so often for quidditch and lived a completely different lifestyle. There would be worse people to be Matched with, she could stand to be married to Ron if that’s what happened. 

“Yes, he’ll be in the Matching. Hermione, how are you doing with all of that? I don’t mean to sound surprised, but I expected you to… shut down.” Ginny said carefully. 

Hermione didn’t blame her. She was pleasantly surprised by herself that she hadn’t been sent into a blind depressive episode and withdrawn from life all together with the impending doom that was the Matching Banquet. 

“I thought I would have, too. I haven’t because I want to fight this. That’s why I wanted to meet with you both before going out tonight, I need your help. Dr. Wilson thinks it’s a good idea for me to find a solution to this. Obviously, this is a means to help me find a purpose and also forces me to network with people and increase my social interaction. I’m not fighting his suggestion because it’s also a means to stop this Matching bullshit.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but I really love your therapist,” Ginny said, “Of course we’ll help you. What do you need from us?”

They went to work brainstorming potential allies, running through a list of people who would most likely be matched and would have the drive to fight with them. They then took this list and identified strengths in each person. 

“Theo Nott owns a law firm. He’d be good to get in contact with, obviously,” Harry wrote Nott’s name down on a piece of parchment.

“Honestly, we don’t need a bunch of professionals, although that helps. If we can recruit anyone of status, that should be sufficient,” Hermione said. 

“Oh, well in that case, I have a few people in mind. You, Harry, and Ron, obviously. You’re the Golden Trio, you’ll be the center of society forever. There’s also Zabini, he’s pretty high up in the quidditch world, as am I,” Ginny added with a smug smile, “then there’s Malfoy. He works for the Ministry as an Auror.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. Harry was writing the name down on the parchment, the scribbling of the quill the only sound in the room. 

Ginny looked at Hermione, “What?” 

“Nothing, I just-” she started shaking her head and looking down, “I haven’t heard that name in a while. He’s an auror?” 

“It was a shock to the wizarding world, actually, considering his past. But after Harry spoke at his trial and his charges were dropped, he worked his way from the bottom of the food chain to get where he is now. I suppose you wouldn’t know that, since you weren’t getting the Prophet,” Ginny explained, becoming passionate, “There are, of course, people who don’t trust him. They don’t understand why the Ministry would allow him to work as an auror, but I personally think the refusal to forgive is disgusting and embarrassing. He was a child being manipulated by twisted adults. He’s changed, and anyone who spends any time with him would be able to see that.” 

“And you’ve spent time with him, then?” Hermione asked, bewildered.

“Harry more than I, but yes.” Ginny nodded.

“How come you never mentioned this to me?” Hermione asked. Everyone seemed to be healing and thriving since the war, the notion upsetting her because she wasn’t healing the same.

“You didn’t ask, and we didn’t want to push it.” Ginny said. 

Hermione nodded.

“Okay, this is a good start,” Harry said, looking up from the parchment, “We might be able to get started on networking tonight already. Zabini and Nott are both regulars at the Leaky.” 

-

"Ron sends his apologies, he won't be joining us tonight. He said he'd owl you about going for lunch sometime soon," Ginny said as they walked toward the Leaky. 

“If it’s too much, you don’t have to stay. It’s a Wednesday, so it shouldn’t be too busy. But if you’re uncomfortable and have to leave, I won’t be offended. We can handle finding Nott and Zabini on our own,” Harry said, searching Hermione’s eyes for any sign of panic.

Hermione nodded, smiling at her long-time friend. He’d always been so considerate. 

They walked in the door, the smell of old wood and alcohol hitting Hermione’s senses instantly. It was warm, but not stuffy. A decent amount of people were here, but not enough to set her off right away. They choose a booth out of the way in the back corner. 

“I’ll grab us some drinks, you ladies wait here,” Harry said with a smile, kissing Ginny’s cheek before walking toward the bar. Ginny smiled at him as he walked away.

Hermione thought about how wonderful of a match they were. The piece in the press release about currently married couples being expected to become pregnant within the next couple of years sprang into her mind. 

“Oh, Ginny, I’ve been so absorbed in how the law will affect me, I didn’t even think about how it would affect you!” Hermione said, putting a hand on Ginny’s shoulder. “How are you feeling about it?” 

“Honestly, I feel bad for everyone else. Don’t worry about me.” Ginny said as Harry returned with their drinks, “We’d been meaning to tell you actually,” Ginny said as Harry handed Hermione a vodka cran and Ginny just a water.

It clicked in Hermione’s brain then, “You’re already pregnant?!” 

Ginny smiled, her hand going to her belly. “About 8 weeks today.” Harry was beaming at her, absolutely in love with his wife. 

“That’s such wonderful news, I’m so happy for you both,” Hermione said, hugging Ginny.

“Cheers,” Harry said, raising his firewhiskey, “To my beautiful wife and soon to be mother of my child.” 

“Harry,” Ginny said, giggling, “It’s your birthday, this night is about you! Not me.” 

“But who would I be without you, my love?” Harry said, kissing her forehead. 

Hermione watched her friends, hoping one day she might have a love like that. She realized, however, that with the new law, she wouldn’t have a say. She hoped to herself that if they couldn’t take this law down, she would at least be able to have some sort of relationship with her Match. The Goblet, after all, was charmed to Match people based on compatibility. There was a chance. 

Her thoughts were interrupted as Ginny spoke, “Zabini just walked in.” She was right, he was scanning the room. “I’ll get you another firewhiskey, Harry, while he’s ordering. I’ll invite him to sit with us.”

Ginny got up and walked toward the bar, seemingly slipping into conversation with Zabini with ease. A few minutes into their conversation and Nott joined them as well. Two birds with one stone. Ginny had each of the men following her back to their table. Harry stood.

“Zabini, Nott, good to see you,” he shook each of their hands. 

“Potter! How’s it going?” Nott said.

Hermione stayed in her seat but waved at the two. 

“Granger, long time no see. How are you?” Zabini said, smiling politely.

The whole situation was surreal. If you would’ve told Hermione she’d be in a bar making small-talk with these two men, she’d have laughed and called you crazy. 

“I’ve been well, all things considered,” Hermione said.

“Ah, right. What a time we’re living in, huh? Never thought the ministry would pull something like this.” Zabini said, taking a seat at their corner booth. 

Nott sat down next to him. “I just can’t believe it’s even legal,” he said, “I’m itching to get my hands on the paperwork behind the movement.” 

“We actually wanted to ask you about all of that,” Ginny started, “The whole thing is obviously SO ridiculous and a violation of basic human autonomy… we want to find a way to fight it.” 

“Good luck figuring that out before Saturday,” Zabini said, taking a swig of his drink. 

“We realize we won’t be able to fight this in time for the Matching Banquet, but there must be a way to undo it afterward,” Hermione said, directing the following question at Nott, “How would we go about doing that?” 

“Someone would have to challenge the law itself, bring it to the Wizengamot. Something like this could take weeks or months to be brought to trial, but it could be done,” Nott said, thinking deeply.

“Are you considering being that person, Granger? Would you actually challenge the Wizengamot?” Zabini said, impressed. 

“At this point, someone has to,” Hermione said, looking at the melting ice in her vodka cran. 

“Ballsy. I’m in,” Nott said, slapping the table, “We’re gonna need another round of drinks over here, bartender!” 

“They can hear you from the other end of the bar, Nott.” Hermione didn’t dare look up from her drink, the familiar voice chilling her bones. She hadn’t anticipated seeing him here tonight, hadn’t mentally prepared for it. 

“Malfoy, where the hell have you been?” Nott greeted him. Hermione calmed her beating heart as best as she could and glanced up, seeing him for the first time in years. 

He had grown. He was a man now, his boyish features replaced with sharper lines and wiser eyes. His hair was still that platinum blond, shorter on the sides, and the longer top styled neatly. He still carried himself with confidence, but the arrogance from their school years was gone as far as Hermione could tell. 

“Working, Nott. The ministry has been in shambles dealing with the backlash from this new law. I didn’t think it would affect the Aurors as much as it has,” he said sounding tired. 

“Well, take a seat, mate,” Harry said, “Have a drink with us. We were actually just talking about the law.” 

Malfoy sat in the last spot at the table. “I can’t believe the Minister isn’t doing anything about it,” he said.

“Granger over there is, though,” Nott said, nodding at Hermione. Malfoy looked at her then, noticing her for what seemed like the first time. A small smile played on his lips, barely noticeable. 

“Are you?” He raised his eyebrows at her. 

She paused for a second, gathering her thoughts. “I want to,” she attempted to come off as confident, praying her voice didn’t waver, “I’m trying to get Nott to help me with the legal aspect of things.” She looked down at her glass again, the eye contact with Malfoy putting her on edge. She hadn’t had this much social interaction in years, and it was started to get to her. She sent Ginny a meaningful look, hoping she understood. 

“I really should get going. It was nice seeing you all.” Harry and Ginny stood to let her out of the booth. She gave them both a hug before saying, “Happy birthday, Harry,” and turning to leave. 

On her way out, she heard Nott yell, “Another round, then, for Potter’s birthday!”


	4. Customs

“Hermione, I hope you’re feeling better. We stayed at the Leaky to speak with Nott, Zabini, and Malfoy for a while after you left. Great news, they’re all in! Nott is willing to take you on as an official client, and Zabini and Malfoy are both willing to support the cause with funding and networking. Obviously, we’ll have to wait until after the Banquet tomorrow, but we’ll talk strategy then. Love, Ginny”

This was wonderful news, but Hermione’s nerves were getting to her. Everything was happening so quickly, and she was expected to be the face of a revolution? She wanted to stop this law, of course, but the responsibility and expectations were becoming quite a lot to handle. On top of that, the fact that the three Slytherin men would support her so willingly was bizarre. Though they were adversaries in the past, the current common enemy had very obviously made them allies. She set the letter aside and went about her day.

Hermione floo’d to Minx’s to start her shift. Minx was at the counter, checking a customer out when she arrived. Hermione smiled to herself, thankful to see the man after the few days she’d taken off. Minx was a short, pudgy man who wore bow-ties and suspenders. He was always cheery, nothing but a smile gracing his round face. 

“You have a wonderful day, now,” he said to the customer. “Oh, Hermione! Welcome back, dear. How are you?” He gave Hermione a warm smile.

“I’ve been well, Minx, thank you for letting me take a few personal days.” 

“Of course, of course. You know, you didn’t have to come in at all today,” Minx said, giving Hermione a knowing look. “You’re not allowed to come in at all tomorrow, actually.” 

“What do you mean, I’m ‘not allowed’?” Hermione said, chuckling at him.

“Tomorrow is the big Matching Banquet, is it not?” Minx asked her.

“It is, but not until the evening,” Hermione argued, “I can still come in, Minx. I’ve missed the last few days here! That’s not fair to you.” 

“I can manage just fine on my own, and you need the time to get ready,” Minx insisted. Hermione knew there was an underlying message of ‘take the time to mentally prepare for the Banquet.’ Hermione’s throat became tight, her heart swelling for the old man. He had always been so kind and understanding toward her. 

“Thank you, Minx. I need that. To be completely honest, I haven’t planned for this at all. I haven’t even got a dress… oh God, I haven’t got a dress! Oh, how could I have forgotten the bloody dress?” Hermione shook her head at herself. “Would it be alright if I sent an owl quick? Then I’ll start working.” 

“Of course, take your time,” Minx smiled at her before leaving to return books to their shelves. 

-

The next day, Ginny floo’d to Hermione’s as she had asked a few hours before the Banquet.

“Since you won’t go to a boutique, I’ve brought the boutique to you,” Ginny said, “You’ll want to make some tea.” 

Hermione looked at her confused, “Huh?”

Her floo roared to life, Pansy Parkinson’s head popping through the green flames. 

“Granger, change your wards so I can come in. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Hermione stood shocked for a moment, her mind slow to process that Pansy Parkinson was speaking to her through the floo. 

“Hello?” Pansy said, impatient. 

“Sorry, of course.” She dropped her wards, and Pansy stepped into the living room.

“Well, let’s get to work, then.” 

For the next hour, Pansy set up in Hermione’s living room and made decisions about dresses and makeup while Ginny explained to Hermione how this had all come about. 

“Well, as you know I’ve been on the cover of Witch Weekly a few times for the Quidditch Program. That’s where I met Pansy. She owns Parkinson Fashion, and she dressed me for most of the shoots I’ve had to do,” Ginny told her. “We’ve hung out a few times outside of work-related functions. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize,” Hermione said, “I guess I really have been living under a rock.” 

“I guess you have,” Pansy said, “But part of my job is making sure you look your best as you emerge from that rock.” She smiled at her then, a genuine smile. 

This whole time Hermione had been living on her own, shutting herself out from the world and refusing to socialize, she had missed out on so much. She would never have known that Pansy started a fashion line, or that Malfoy was an Auror. She would have assumed her whole life that they were the same Slytherin bullies they were in Hogwarts. And that was her own fault. 

“Now, let’s get you into some of these dresses, and then we’ll start hair and makeup.” Pansy said, clapping her hands together. 

Hermione let her mind wander, trusting Pansy and Ginny to make these fashion decisions without her. She instead turned her thoughts toward the Banquet ahead. She would be matched soon. She would be moving out of her house, or someone would be moving in. She finally let her mind settle on the ‘who?’ Who would she be matched with? Would they be much older? Would they be nice? Would they be someone she knew? 

She thought again about being paired with Ron. She could handle Ron, they were friends after all. At least, they used to be. She still hadn’t heard from him, even after he said he’d owl. Maybe she should have owled him. Was he upset with her? Why hadn’t he gotten in touch? 

Or what if it wasn’t Ron? She ran through a list of people she’d be okay with being paired with. Dean Thomas wouldn’t be a bad match. Hermione didn’t know if he was still single or not after all these years. Theo Nott wouldn’t be a bad match, either. They’d be working together on the case against the Wizengamot together, and it would only be temporary. 

Blaise wouldn’t be a horrible match either, Hermione decided. He was at least quiet, polite. Much like Hermione. And then there was Malfoy… she hadn’t even thought of Malfoy. Ginny insisted he’d changed, and that’s great and all, but their past was so complicated. Hermione was all for forgiving, but forgetting was a whole other matter. It was something that wasn’t entirely in her control. Just the other day at the Leaky she had to leave before having a panic attack after he had shown. 

Hermione decided they probably weren’t compatible anyway, and the Goblet couldn’t possibly match them. They were entirely different people in school, and people didn’t really change that much, regardless of how much they may have matured. Unless the Goblet wanted to match her with a stranger, she was sure she’d end up with Ron. It made the most sense. 

Satisfied with her logic, Hermione turned her thoughts back to the present. Pansy had finished her makeup and was now curling her hair. Hermione looked at herself in the mirror, the sight shocking her. 

She was stunning. A soft gasp left her throat, her mouth slightly parted. 

“What’s wrong?” Ginny asked, turning to look at her from the clothes rack that hung their dresses. 

“Nothing, I just-,” she was at a loss for words. 

“She’s seeing herself,” Pansy finished for her, a smug smile on her lips, satisfied with her handiwork, “People see you, Granger, it’s about time you see you.” 

Hermione tore her eyes away from her reflection to look at Pansy. She had gone back to doing her hair, but was still looking at Hermione out of the corner of her eye. Hermione nodded at her, showing her appreciation. 

“Alright,” Ginny said, “it’s about time to leave, let’s get into our dresses.” 

There were “customs” the Ministry was trying to establish for this and future Matching Banquets. The male matchees were to wear black suits, the female matchees white dresses. There was wiggle room in the dress code for accent colors and patterns, but the dress had to be primarily white. 

Pansy’s dress was an off-white color, sleek and form-fitting. It suited her perfectly, swooping low on her chest in a teasing yet tasteful way. The straps over her shoulders were thin, and they crisscrossed on her back. She kept her dark bob in a straight, sophisticated style. She was the embodiment of grace and beauty. 

As a hostess instead of a potential match, Ginny wore a navy blue A-line dress. It shimmered slightly at the bottom in a subtle yet outspoken sort of way. Her hair was set in loose waves down her back, her makeup was light and complimentary to her features. Harry was in for a treat.

Hermione stepped in front of the mirror herself, nervous but excited to see the dress. She had never been much of a “girly-girl,” not really having the time to care about menial things like fashion when she was so busy with Harry and Ron and defeating the Dark Lord and all. The Yule Ball was one of the only opportunities she really had to dress up in school, and that night had been magical. 

The dress was phenomenal. She looked elegant, ethereal. It was a light creme color, just off-white. The dress had sleeves that hung off her shoulders, but it was light enough that she wouldn’t be too warm. It was sheer material, the bodice tighter on her torso, but the sleeves and dress flowed like silk around her, each movement making her look graceful, delicate. There were embroidered flowers covering the bodice in stunning colors of blush pink, soft emerald, and muted gold. The flowers spilled over to the skirt, the illusion being that they were floating downward as they went. 

Her hair was in a loose updo, pieces falling and framing her face perfectly. Her neck and shoulders were exposed, and her skin glowed with the makeup Pansy had done. She’d never looked and felt so beautiful in her life. 

“I pity the men who have the chance to be matched with you and aren’t. You both look stunning,” Ginny said, admiring the dresses. 

“You designed this?” Hermione asked Pansy, gesturing to her dress.

“I did.” Pansy’s smile was a mile wide. 

“It’s so beautiful, thank you for letting me wear it for the night.” 

“Anytime, Granger. Just be sure to tell people you’re wearing ‘Parkinson’ when they ask,” Pansy replied, grabbing her clutch. “We’d better get going, or we’ll be late.” 

Hermione nodded, grabbing her own clutch and shrinking it to fit into her bust as Pansy had. 

As the three left, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if this would be one of the last nights she spent in her own house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The moment of truth will be in the next chapter, buckle your seatbelts, everyone! :)


	5. To Be Wed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy! I had such a fun time writing this chapter, my heart was pounding during the big reveal:)

The Ministry had rented out one of the largest event centers in London for the Banquet. The decor was beautiful, the atmosphere a perfect balance of festive yet sophisticated. The Ministry really wanted to eliminate any underlying feelings of unease. There was a stage, there the Goblet of Betrothal sat on a pedestal. The enormous ballroom was lined with row after row of tables with white tablecloths, each table surrounded by six chairs. The lights were dimmed, each table adorned with rose petals and candles. 

“They’re really laying it on thick, aren’t they?” Ron materialized next to Hermione who had just entered with Pansy and Ginny. 

“Ron! Did you just get here? How are you?” Hermione asked, pulling him in for a hug without hesitation. 

“Just now, yeah. I’m good. Sorry I never owled you, I’ve been quite preoccupied,” he replied. 

“I’m going to go find Harry, he’ll be around here somewhere,” Ginny said. 

“Granger, let’s put our names in the Goblet and then find a table,” Pansy said, grabbing her hand. Hermione didn’t fight it, she’d need someone to support her in order to get through the night. What she failed to remember was Pansy would most definitely lead her to a table of Slytherin men. They neared the table with Zabini, Malfoy, and Nott already sat there, and all three men stood. 

“You clean up nicely, ladies,” Blaise said, nodding his head. The other men had not spoken as they were too busy staring. “Oh, come on boys, pick your jaws up off the ground.” Malfoy scratched the back of his neck in an attempt to recover. 

Nott smirked before pulling out a chair for Pansy to sit, “You look great, Pans.” 

“Thank you,” Pansy blushed at his words. 

Hermione went to seat herself, but Malfoy beat her to the chair, pulling it out for her. She met his eyes for a brief moment before nodding her thanks and lowering herself, letting him ease her closer to the table. 

“I’ll grab us some drinks,” Theo left to walk to the open bar. 

Hermione sat with her head down, twiddling her fingers in her lap. Pansy was deep in conversation with Blaise, and Hermione tried her best not to seem like she was eavesdropping, but there was nothing else for her to do.

“You’re nervous.” The sound came from her left. She turned and saw Malfoy leaning in his chair casually, already looking at her. 

“You’re not?” Hermione replied. 

“Fair,” Malfoy said, raising the glass of firewhiskey Theo had just set in front of him. He brought a white wine for each of the women. Hermione took a long sip, thankful for the calm that washed over her. 

He left her alone then, and Hermione was grateful for it. 

“Anyone wanna place any bets?” Pansy asked the table. 

“Hell yeah, I guarantee Malfoy and Astoria will be Matched. They were meant to be married in the first place,” Theo said, taking a sip of his own firewhiskey, “That’s the only one I’d bet actual money on.” 

“Could be,” Malfoy said, not entirely interested in the subject. 

“Honestly, I agree,” said Pansy. “Any other ideas?”

“If Potter and Weasley weren’t already married, that would be an obvious one,” Blaise commented. Hermione liked that they still referred to her as Weasley. 

“Ah, but what about the other Weasley?” Theo said, “Ron, right? Weren’t you two close at Hogwarts, Hermione? That’s an obvious match.”

“Could be,” Hermione mimicked Malfoy. 

The lights grew dimmer just then, as if there was a show about to start.

“Oh, please, this is all so dramatic,” Pansy said, crossing her arms and throwing one leg over the other.

Hermione realized just then how packed the room was. Every witch and wizard between nineteen and thirty were there, but she hadn’t stopped to think about just how many people that would actually be. 

She could feel her heart racing in her chest, thankful that the lights were dim so no one could see the oncoming panic attack. She worked through calming techniques given to her by Dr. Wilson, but she was struggling to slow her breathing.

She heard Malfoy clear his throat, he had seemingly noticed her distress. She glanced at him, knowing the panic in her eyes would be obvious. Malfoy held her gaze, and took his own deep breath in before letting it go. 

Hermione followed suit, and breathed deeply. Malfoy dropped his gaze to her glass, before catching her eye again. He moved his hand in front of her on the table and tapped her glass of wine, signaling to take a drink to calm her nerves. She did, and her heart rate lowered just slightly.

She gave him an appreciative smile, and he nodded in response. The Minister stood on the stage, amplifying his voice with his wand. 

“Welcome, welcome, to the first ever Matching Banquet. We are so pleased to have you all here today, and we thank you for taking part in the security of our future. And now, we will get right to it. I introduce to you: Harry and Ginny Potter, your hosts for the night!” Harry and Ginny emerged on the stage, shaking the Minister’s hands. They looked ravishing standing next to each other in their attire. 

“Hello, thank you all for coming, uh,” Harry stuttered through his own welcome speech, “well, let’s just begin. I’ll be reading off the names presented by the Goblet, and Ginny will receive you as you come forward to choose your rings.” He paused, seemingly reluctant to say his next line, “Happy Matching.” 

He stepped toward the Goblet and waited patiently. The flames were a deep blue, but within a few seconds they turned a purple shade before settling on a deep red color. Two slips of paper flew out and floated downward. Harry missed them on the way down and had to stoop to pick them up. 

“Our first Match of the night: George Weasley…. And Elizabeth Babb. Congratulations.” 

Hermione didn’t remember who Elizabeth Babb was until after she saw her walk up to the stage. She was a Slytherin a few years ahead of her. Hermione tried to see George’s face to gauge his reaction, but couldn’t make it out from this far away. The pairing shook Harry’s hand before walking toward Ginny to get their rings. Ginny stopped to give George a hug, giving him a comforting pat on the back. 

The ceremony continued on in this manner, Harry attempting to catch the falling slips of paper, nervous twenty-somethings making their way to the stage to receive their rings, and then walking back to their tables now “wed.” Hermione grew more and more restless as the night went on. Pansy stayed relatively calm, most likely due to the copious amounts of alcohol she was consuming. She wasn’t drunk, but she was very obviously relaxed. 

“Ah, here we have the next pairing,” Harry perked up, “Ronald Weasley and Hannah Abbott.” 

Hermione could see Ron making his way toward the stage, his face a deep shade of red. Hannah met him up there, nervously taking his hand when he offered it. “Congratulations mate.” The two walked toward Ginny for their rings. The people at her table turned to Hermione then, all obviously thinking the same thing: There goes Hermione’s Match. 

She had to admit, the thought unnerved her. She was more likely to be matched with a stranger now since Ron was already paired off. 

Harry’s voice rang through the room again, “Luna Lovegood and Blaise Zabini.” 

Blaise stood and walked toward the stage. Hermione hadn’t seen Luna until now, but smiled when she saw how lovely she looked. Hermione waved at her as she came to sit at their table now.

“Hi Luna,” she said.

“Hermione, hello. It’s good to see you,” Luna replied. 

“Uh, congratulations?” she offered. 

“Thank you.” Luna’s smile was genuine. Maybe this night wasn’t all bad. 

“Theodore Nott,” Harry started on the next couple, “and Pansy Parkinson!” 

Theo rose from the table first, taking Pansy’s hand to help her stand. Before walking toward the stage, he bowed and kissed the back of her hand, ever the gentleman. They walked together with Pansy on his arm, and shook Harry’s hand before getting their rings from Ginny. 

Harry’s voice sounded in the ballroom again, tearing Hermione from her thoughts. 

“Our next pairing, we have Hermione Granger and,” Harry’s voice faltered, he looked up at where Hermione was sitting. Hermione’s heart stopped dead in her chest, her eyes growing wide. It must be a bad pairing, or Harry wouldn’t have hesitated as he had. “And....” Harry tried again, but faltered a second time. Ginny walked forward from her post by the rings, taking the slip of paper from Harry. 

Her eyes widened at the name, but she was at least able to find her voice, “Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.” 

The blood drained from her face, she was frozen in her chair. Hermione felt a hand around her own, pulling her back to reality. Turning to face him, she saw Malfoy was already standing and attempting to pull her to her feet. 

“Come on Granger, nice and easy,” he whispered to her. He wrapped her arm in his own and placed her hand on his arm to support her as they walked. She could hear the whispering through the room as she went. 

‘They never got along in school.’

‘I feel so bad for her, he was horrible at Hogwarts.’

‘She’s a hermit, I don’t know how he’ll deal with that.’

‘They’ll kill each other.’

She held her skirt as she ascended the steps to the stage, greeting Harry with a hug before walking to Ginny. The rings were beautiful, actually, but Hermione was too dazed to notice. She didn’t register Ginny taking her free hand in an attempt to shake her out of her daze. 

“You can choose,” Malfoy said. She looked up at him for the first time since taking his arm. Seeing the obvious look of confusion on her face, he leaned down to choose a pair himself. He wordlessly slid the ring on her finger before putting on his own. 

Grabbing her hand and setting it on his arm again, he led the two of them back to their table. He pulled out her chair, and she sat staring straight ahead. 

“Congratulations, Granger.” She heard Pansy say. 

When she didn’t answer, she heard Malfoy say, “Thank you.” 

She snapped out of it, then, looking at him for only the second time since being paired. “I’m sorry,” she said, before grabbing her glass and taking a long sip of wine. 

He leaned forward, “Sorry? For what?” 

“For panicking,” she said, taking another sip. Her glass was empty now. 

“Don’t apologize,” he looked away from her, “I’ll get you more wine.” He rose and left her there, still stunned. 

Pansy leaned toward her again, “Weasley won’t be back for a while, are you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah I think so.” Hermione said, slowly getting a grip. 

“Here, take another sip from mine,” Pansy thrust her glass into Hermione’s hand. 

She took a moment to glance around the table. Each person’s gaze was back on stage as Harry continued with the Matching. She was thankful there weren’t any more eyes on her. The weight of the situation crashed down on her for a second time in her moment of solidarity, but she worked hard to keep her breathing even as she analyzed the last ten minutes. 

She had been Matched. To Malfoy. She and Malfoy were Matched. How did she feel about it? How did he feel about it? He sat down again with her wine as the thought crossed her mind. She looked at him curiously. He was as composed as ever, always the stoic and poised pureblood he was raised to be. 

He had to be freaking out on the inside. Hermione could just imagine the disappointment he felt about their Match, even though they were all hoping it was temporary. He was supposed to be Matched with Astoria, or a different pureblood, or at least a Slytherin. The thought made her uneasy. She didn’t want to be the cause of his aggravation, or they might slip into their tendencies from Hogwarts. She couldn’t handle being on the receiving end of his temper in the midst of all this. He had to be putting on a show for the public, she was sure of it. As soon as they were alone he would stop being so kind. 

He looked at her, sensing her eyes on him. He could see the gears turning in her head, so he leaned in again, “Careful, Granger, you’re overanalyzing.” 

She couldn’t tell how he meant to come across, but it almost sounded like a threat. Behave, or there will be trouble. She took her wine in her hand and kept her eyes on the table in front of her until the Matching Ceremony was over. 

She soon found out that just because the Ceremony was over, that didn’t mean the Banquet was. 

“Congratulations to all of our matches!” The Minister motioned for everyone to stand, and the tables and chairs disappeared, “We hope you’ll enjoy the rest of your night dancing under the stars.” He raised his wand to the ceiling, and the night sky appeared, the ceiling enchanted like Hogwarts’ Great Hall. 

Hermione’s heart rate picked up again, the thought of socializing for any longer setting her on edge. That, and the fact that she’d be expected to dance with Malfoy. 

He took her hand, guiding her to the dance floor.


	6. Under the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had an idea to do an alternate version of this story where Draco and Hermione aren't initially Matched - Thoughts on this? Let me know in the comments if you'd read it! :)

He was pulling her, and she was following. There was nothing else to do, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. She turned her head to the side, searching for Ginny. Surely she had to be looking for her too, her job as hostess was done. Her long red hair was nowhere to be found. Hermione was frantic now, turning her head from side to side in an attempt to spot her. The stark contrast of black suits against white dresses made her dizzy, coasting on the edge of another panic attack. 

A sharp tug on her hand forced her gaze forward, her eyes seeing the color grey and nothing more. No more black and white, just grey. His eyes held hers for a moment before he nodded behind her. Hermione turned, finally seeing Ginny. She was walking towards her with purpose, not paying attention to any of the other people around her. 

Malfoy dropped her hand and let her walk away from him. Hermione embraced Ginny, feeling the weight of her against her body anchoring her to reality. She exhaled, the tension in her shoulders subsiding. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Ginny said, “I didn’t expect Malfoy. I don’t think anyone did.”

Hermione just shook her head at a complete loss for words. 

“Just remember, you’re fighting this. This is temporary.” Ginny rubbed her arm up and down in a comforting gesture reminiscent of Molly Weasley herself. 

“But what if it isn’t temporary?” Hermione asked. 

“This is going to sound so weird, but there are worse people out there than Malfoy,” Ginny smiled, “I promise you, he’s bearable as a friend. That’s something, at least, right?” She forced Hermione to look her in the eyes. 

“It is, but I don’t think he’s too happy about our Matching,” Hermione said. She didn’t realize how insecure she sounded until saying the words out loud. 

“Mione, no one likes a forced marriage. Keep in mind, there are worse people to be Matched with than you, even in his eyes,” the music started just then, cutting Ginny off. “Go dance, the Minister is expecting you to stay for a dance or two since you’re a part of the ‘Golden Trio’ and therefore part of the public image of this stupid Banquet. But you don’t have to stay the rest of the night. You did so well tonight, and you were almost entirely on your own. Dr. Wilson will be proud of you.” Ginny smiled at her friend, placing a hand on her cheek before turning to find Harry for her own dance. 

She took a deep breath before turning around again to find Malfoy. He had taken up a conversation with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, oddly enough. Hermione didn’t know if she’d get used to seeing her old school rivals socializing with her old school friends so naturally. She approached them slowly, waving hello to Dean and Seamus. 

“Hermione! Long time no see, how have you been?” Seamus said, pulling her in for a hug.

“I’ve been well, Seamus, thank you,” she smiled at the two boys she knew from her childhood so well. She could do this, she could get through a night of light conversation and pleasantries.

“Congratulations on your ‘Match,’” Dean said, finger-quoting. 

“Yeah, thank you,” Hermione chuckled at his air-quotes, catching on. 

Malfoy joined in then, “A bit of a shock, isn’t it?” This earned a laugh from both men, causing Hermione to smile genuinely. 

“Oh! I must have missed when you were both Matched. Who are your Matches?” Hermione said, glancing around for any indication of a woman hanging around close by.

“Oh, we weren’t Matched. We were summoned to attend since we’re between nineteen and thirty, but we’re already married,” Dean said. 

“Oh?” Hermione prompted. She really was out of the loop. 

“To each other,” Seamus finished, grabbing Dean’s hand. 

It registered in Hermione’s brain then, “OH! Congratulations to you both, that’s so wonderful.” She smiled at them, thinking back to any indication of this pairing in their school years and coming to the conclusion that yes, there were in fact signs even back then. 

“Yes, congratulations,” Malfoy said, taking Hermione’s hand again, “If you’ll excuse us, I’m going to have a first dance with my new wife. It was good catching up with you both again, I’ll see you around the office.” 

Hermione was reeling at his casual use of the word ‘wife’. He turned her toward the dance floor, taking her waist in his left hand and holding her hand in his right. 

“Wife?” Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows.

He answered with his own question, “Is that not the correct term?”

“Technically, it is correct, but-” she started, but he cut her off leaning in to whisper.

“Think, Granger, we’re being watched. We’re all being watched.” Hermione tilted her head to hear him better, angling her body. Her eyelids fluttered a little as she hung on every murmured word, “You want to fight this thing? You can, but you have to go dark for a while, play by their rules. Fly under the radar. If they see any hint of rebellion, they’ll never leave you alone. If you want to work peacefully, if you want to win, play the game.” 

He stood straight again, but held her closely.

Play the game. 

Put on a show. Act elated, act over-the-moon ecstatic about the Matching, and they’ll leave her alone. She thought deeply about this. That was why he was so calm and collected, he was playing the game. 

She looked at her hand held in his, the ring on her finger shining. She took the time to inspect the piece of jewelry. It was simple, elegant. The band was a stunning white-gold, and where she expected a diamond was a small emerald instead. 

“Emerald?” she asked him, pulling their hands closer to her face to get a better look. 

“Yes, emerald. Sorry if you don’t like it, but you weren’t entirely responsive on stage.” He twirled them around slowly, easing them through the dance. 

“How Slytherin of you,” she attempted to joke.

“Actually, I chose the emerald to match the flowers on your dress. You look stunning, by the way.” He looked away from her, and she searched his face. 

He’s playing the game, playing nice. 

“Oh, thank you. It’s lovely,” Hermione replied, looking anywhere but his face. 

“Tell me, how did you not know Thomas and Finnigan were married? Weren’t all you Gryffindors chummy back in the day?” He changed the subject.

How did she explain that she cut herself off from society as a means for coping with her raging PTSD and anxiety disorder? 

“I fell out of touch with a lot of people years ago,” she started, but stopped herself, coming to the conclusion that if they were going to be in close proximity, she might as well come clean. She looked him in the eye.

“Look, Malfoy, I’m just gonna be honest with you,” she started again, gaining his full attention, “After the war, I cut everyone off. Or, rather, I cut myself off from everyone else. I unsubscribed from the Daily Prophet. I stopped going out, stopped seeing people other than Harry and Ginny, and only left home to work at this obscure bookstore no one knows about. I see a therapist once a week for PTSD and an anxiety disorder that I have zero handle on. I had no idea Seamus and Dean were together because I don’t talk to anyone. I had no idea you were an auror, or that Pansy had a fashion line. It’s like I don’t know any of you anymore.” She took a deep breath as she finished her confession, “This is the first public outing I’ve been to in three years. This is the most people I’ve seen in three years.”

He kept his face neutral, but his eyes gave away just how shocked he truly was. 

“I had no idea, truly. I’m sorry,” he said honestly. 

“I didn’t tell you because I want any pity. I’m telling you to keep you in the loop. We’re bound to each other for the foreseeable future until we can get this figured out, so there’s no use in lying to you about my condition. Being honest will make this easier,” she said, looking at anyone in the room but him.

He nodded, but didn’t push the subject any further. They weaved in and out of the sea of people dancing, Malfoy leading her. It was painfully obvious Hermione hadn’t danced since the Yule Ball, but then, why would’ve she? She was busy fighting a war that wasn’t hers, a war she never asked for. A war that haunts her even after its finale.

Hermione was spent. She was exhausted both emotionally and physically, and she was surprised she had made it this far in the night at all. She wanted to go home. 

But where was home? 

She stole a glance at him, thinking about how strange this situation was. Would he stay with her in her tiny home? Would she be expected to move in with him? The thought of spending any time in that dark, dismal Manor made her skin crawl. She tensed, remembering the drawing room, remembering Bellatrix, remembering the dagger carving into her forearm. 

Her breath caught, and Malfoy noticed. He turned his head to look into her eyes, and Hermione felt tears threaten to spill over. 

Not here, she thought to herself. 

“Granger?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I-” she started, swallowing the lump in her throat, “Assuming we are to leave together tonight and-” her breath caught again, and she couldn’t finish her thought. Black spots gathered in her vision. 

“Look at me, don’t look anywhere else” he said, leading their dance to the edge of the floor. “Unfortunately, we will have to leave together, and live together from here on out. I think it’s safe to assume the rings are enchanted to trace each of us. Otherwise we would have been able to purchase and bring our own rings.” 

They were out of the throng of dancers and making their way to the balcony. He held the curtain aside and she stepped into the night, the cool air calming her. She took a few steps forward, he stood a few paces behind her to wait for her breathing to even out. She turned to look at him, his hands were in his pockets, eyes on the ground in front of him. 

“This is all entirely up to you. Obviously, my home is open to you now. I should warn you, my mother is living there, but that would be it. We don’t get many visitors. And Hermione,” he stopped, realizing he used her first name. Her arms were covered in goosebumps, and she was unable to tell if it was due to the night air or the way he said her name. He cleared his throat before continuing, “we’ve redecorated since the war, it’s different. The foyer, the halls, the ballroom… the drawing room.” 

She understood what he was trying to do. He wanted her to move into the Manor and tried to make her as comfortable as possible while still giving her the choice. 

“Oh, there’s also the library. You know, for research purposes as you take on the Wizengamot,” he followed up, scratching his neck before shoving his hand back in his pocket. Hermione didn’t have much experience with social interaction in the last few years, but she could tell he was nervous. 

She looked at him, a genuine smile playing on her lips that she tried to hide. 

“I gotcha, didn’t I? I knew the library would do it,” Malfoy said, his own smirk gracing his lips. 

“I can never say no to the promise of unlimited access to a library that big,” Hermione said.

Theo stumbled onto the balcony, Pansy holding his hand behind him. 

“Oh yeah, Malfoy’s got the biggest in all of London,” Theo said before cackling at his own inappropriate joke. Malfoy tried hiding his own smile. 

Pansy smacked his chest, “Theodore, come now, you’re making her blush.” It was true, Hermione could feel the pink gracing her cheeks despite the cool air. 

“Well guys, I’m thoroughly sloshed, so I’ll be leaving with my lovely wife. Have a good night,” he waggled his eyebrows between Hermione and Malfoy suggestively. 

Hermione hadn’t even thought of that. Her smile faded. 

“Don’t worry about him,” Malfoy said, feeling her unease.

“Oh, but we do need to worry about it. Are you forgetting the part of the law that requires women to become pregnant within two years?” Hermione asked him outright, surprised by her own boldness on the topic. 

“I-” he started, running a hand through his hair again. “I didn’t forget. But honestly Granger, I have a feeling you’ll have taken this law down before we really need to worry about that.” 

She nodded, trying not to think about it too much. 

“Come, let’s go home,” he said, offering her his arm. 

Home.


	7. Scratchy Sheets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: there is a brief description of torture in this chapter!! 
> 
> Just a short little filler chapter before we get into the good stuff:)
> 
> I'll be updating frequently on the weekends, but not as much during the work-week. Thanks for being patient!
> 
> Happy reading:)

Home. 

Hermione braced herself as she stepped out of Malfoy’s floo, one of three in the foyer. He had been telling the truth, everything was different from what she could tell. The atmosphere was brighter, lighter. The walls were no longer dark and the curtains were drawn to let natural light in. 

That didn’t stop the feeling in the pit of her stomach telling her to run. Everything was different, sure, but the tang of past events still hung in the air leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. She could feel it, to her left. The drawing room. They may have changed how it looked, but even a paint job couldn’t cover the torment Hermione had endured in there. Her forearm pricked under the sleeve of her dress and she gripped it tightly to her chest, a low gasp coming from her throat. 

“Granger?” Malfoy asked, studying her face. She was acutely aware of the way he was analyzing her even though her eyes were trained on the door to the drawing room, and she tried her best to slow her breathing but to no avail. Her ears were ringing, it was as if she could hear herself all those years ago, screaming, begging…

_“I didn’t take anything….”_

__

__

“Please...."

_Cut… cut… cut…_

She was on her knees, the feeling of the dagger wedging its way into her skin and slicing the ugly word into her arm in the forefront of her mind. 

_“Tell me, mudblood, where did you get it…?”_

__

__

_Screaming, more cutting._

The sound of Bellatrix’s voice in her head sent her over the edge, unaware of anything else happening around her. 

_“WHERE?”_

She let out a low sob, a feeble, “no...” slipping from her mouth. There was black, and then there was nothing. 

-

She came to. She was laying on her bed, snuggled under the blankets. No, not her bed, the sheets were much too scratchy. Sensing the unfamiliar surrounding, she shot straight up and strained her eyes against the darkness. 

Her movements must have alerted Malfoy, she heard a scratchy “Granger…?” sound from somewhere below her. The events of the night came crashing down on her, and she took in a shaky breath. 

“Malfoy, are we still-” 

“No,” he cut her off, sensing the rebounding panic attack, “we’re not at the Manor. We’re at a hotel.”

She let out an audible sigh of relief, her shoulders releasing all the tension they held. 

“I would have brought you to your own place, but I don’t know where you live and I doubt I’d be able to get in anyway since you were passed out.” he said, yawning. 

“I passed out?” Hermione said incredulously, “I’m so sorry.” Panic attacks hadn’t caused her to pass out in years, she had gotten a handle on the bad ones for the most part. 

“Don’t” he said, his mood changing, “don’t, Granger.” 

She was taken aback at this, the sudden hostility making her feel even guiltier. 

“Malfoy, I-” she started.

“Don’t apologize. Just don’t,” he cut her off again, “you have been apologizing and apologizing and bloody apologizing for things that are out of your control, things that are not your fault. Granger, I should never have even brought you there. I’m sorry.” 

She was speechless. The word “sorry” coming out of Malfoy’s mouth sounded so foreign in her ears. 

“Even if it’s not my fault, it’s not yours either,” she whispered. He didn’t respond. “Where is my wand?” She said a bit louder, “I need a light.” 

He muttered, “lumos,” and she squinted her eyes against the light. She saw his outstretched arm holding her wand out to her, and she took it to cast her own ‘lumos.’ She then noticed where his voice had been coming from. 

“Were you sleeping on the floor?” She asked.

“There’s only one bed,” he said, lowering himself back down and facing away from her. She felt even guiltier now, she had been quite the burden on him tonight.

“You don’t have to sleep on the floor. The bed is large enough, I’ll stay on my end….” her voice trailed off. When he didn’t reply, she stepped onto the floor and started padding her way to the bathroom in her bare feet. She flicked on the light and closed the door behind her before seeing herself in the reflection of the mirror.

She looked rough, her makeup slightly smudged and her hair a mess on her head. And, her dress was gone, replaced by a white t-shirt and grey and black checkered pajama pants that were much too large for her. She used the loo quickly and washed her hands before heading back out to the main room. He had moved and was now laying on the far side of the bed. 

“Malfoy…” she started, feeling awkward, “where is my dress?” 

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. 

“It’s back at the Manor. I had our house elf, Winny, bring those,” he motioned to the pajamas she was wearing, “and then bring your dress back with her.” He paused, a slight pink showing on his cheeks in the dim light of their wands, “Oh, Winny handled dressing you. I didn’t.” He lowered his gaze.

Hermione nodded, noticing then that he too was wearing a t-shirt and checkered pajama pants. They matched, and Hermione giggled slightly at the ridiculousness of it. Of the whole situation, really. She had been matched to Malfoy, had a panic attack in Malfoy Manor, was now in a hotel with him, sharing a bed with him, and they were matching? How had her life suddenly become so filled with Malfoy? 

He looked at her curiously as she stood laughing there, his eyebrow raised and his mouth fighting a smile of his own. 

“We’re matching,” she explained.

He glanced between them, then looked up at her face before rolling over to face the wall. “Get some sleep, Granger. You’re obviously sleep-deprived.” 

Hermione silenced her laugh and stepped toward the bed. She kept her movements slow and calculated so as not to shift the mattress too much. She settled in and let her mind drift, trying not to focus on the peculiar predicament she’d found herself in. 

-

She could tell she had been sleeping for too long. The light shone against her eyelids and the birds were singing just outside the window. By the way the light was slanting into the room, it had to be close to 10:00 am.

Shit, she thought, realizing it was Sunday and she was late for therapy. She made an attempt to get up and out of the bed and found that she couldn’t move. An arm was slung around her, gripping her waist and holding her against a very large chest. They had migrated toward the middle of the bed in their sleep. 

Hermione’s cheeks warmed at the contact as this was all very new to her. She didn’t normally like or accept physical touch, and she took a moment to gauge her reaction to their close proximity. She could confidently say she didn’t feel claustrophobic, but the feeling was still odd enough that she squirmed a little to try to break free. 

Feeling the movement in his sleep, Malfoy’s grip tightened on her just a fraction. He came to, and loosened his grip immediately after noticing how tense Hermione’s shoulders were. 

“I’m sorry,” he said groggily, not yet fully awake.

“It’s okay, I’m just late,” Hermione said, sliding off the bed. 

“Late?” Malfoy repeated, turning onto his back and rubbing his eyes with both of his hands, “for what?”

“Therapy,” Hermione replied, “I think I told you about that.” 

“You see your therapist on Sundays?” Malfoy said, obviously confused.

“I do,” she replied, “there’s less of a chance that I’ll see anyone in passing.” She didn’t meet his gaze but knew he was analyzing her again. 

She ignored it, and instead faced the problem at hand. Show up to Dr. Wilson’s on time but wearing Malfoy’s pajamas, or show up late but in her own clothes? She chose the former, a stickler for punctuality as always.

“I’ll uh…” she started, but didn’t know how to end that sentence. What happened now? How did they navigate this marriage? 

“I’ll see you later,” Malfoy finished for her, “Just owl me.” 

And with that, she left him.


	8. Compromise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving the feedback, guys, thank you:) As mentioned in the tags, this is slow-burn, but I promise we'll get to the good stuff soon! I wanna do this story right, and I don't want to rush anything. 
> 
> Happy reading!:)

“Hermione, please, come in,” Dr. Wilson held the door for her, noticing her appearance but refraining from saying anything. 

“I’m sorry I’m a bit late,” Hermione said, taking her seat in the sitting room. 

“Not at all, please, have some tea,” he replied, taking a seat in his own chair. “Let’s get right into, then. How was the banquet?”

He sipped his tea lightly, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.

“It was good,” she aired on the side of caution at first, “It was….” 

“How about we start from the beginning,” Dr. Wilson said, setting his teacup and saucer down.

Hermione took a drink from her teacup before setting it down and clearing her throat. She fiddled with the fuzz on the pajama bottoms she was still wearing, not knowing how to begin. She had hardly processed any of the night herself yet, and regurgitating the details was proving to be a heavy task. If there was any place to do it, though, it would be here. She cleared her throat again before beginning.

“Well,” she started, “I made some friends.” 

Dr. Wilson looked pleased, “And how did that go? Who did you meet?” 

“Before even arriving at the banquet, I was… reacquainted with Pansy Parkinson.” 

“Ah, and she was someone you knew from Hogwarts, then, correct?” he said.

“Yes, but we were by no means friends then,” she chuckled to herself, “She was horrible to me, to be frank.” 

She continued on with her story, explaining how Pansy came to her house to dress her and prepare her for the banquet. She gave as many details as her dazed mind could remember, and eventually ended up at the Matching itself. 

“Harry hesitated, and that’s when I really started to freak out,” she explained, “He hesitated, and Ginny had to come forward to read off the slip of paper herself.” 

She stopped to sip some tea and noticed that Dr. Wilson was hanging on her every word, ready for the next bit of information. 

“I was Matched with Draco Malfoy,” she said, setting her teacup and saucer back down. A bit of shock registered on Dr. Wilson’s face. He kept silent, gesturing with his hand to encourage Hermione to continue.

“To be honest, the next ten minutes after our names were called I blacked out. I didn’t pass out, but I really don’t remember much of anything. It was like a rush of sound and then I wasn’t hearing much of anything. I heard the occasional judgmental whisper, people always have their opinions… but other than that, nothing. I mean, Malfoy led us up to the stage and we got our rings and went back to take our seats, but I don’t remember actually experiencing any of that myself.” 

Dr. Wilson nodded his head. “That sounds like an out-of-body experience, Hermione. These sometimes occur as a coping mechanism that our bodies induce in order to detach from whatever stressful situation it is being put in. Surely to be expected considering you hadn’t had much social interaction beforehand. Keep in mind that even a person without your diagnoses would most likely react in a similar way. I hope that brings you comfort.”

Hermione thought about that for a second, taking another sip of tea. She nodded her head, feeling as though she had made exponential progress just by attending the banquet at all. 

“Tell me, how do you feel about the Matching itself,” Dr. Wilson asked, feigning nonchalance. Hermione could tell he was absorbed in the drama from the banquet. 

“Well,” she began, not quite knowing how to answer, “Obviously I was quite shocked in the beginning. Personally, I don’t think I feel one way or the other. You could say I’m pleasantly surprised, not by the Match itself but by how it’s going. I thought he’d be disappointed, rude, even mean,” Hermione paused, and Dr. Wilson took the lapse to ask her to elaborate.

“Why did you assume he’d be disappointed or rude?”

“He was horrible to me in school. The three of us, Harry, Ron and I, weren’t all that pleasant to him in return, either,” she explained, “Ginny had informed me before the banquet that Malfoy had changed, but realistically… there's so much bad blood in our past, it seemed unlikely he’d be all that thrilled to be Matched to me,” she finished with a sigh. 

“And that… bothered you? That he wouldn’t ‘like’ you?” Dr. Wilson asked, sipping his tea.

Hermione paused and looked at him, knowing what he was getting at. She huffed and took another sip of tea before replying. 

“When you put it like that,” Hermione started but didn’t finish her thought. 

“Hermione, I merely reiterated what you told me. It’s alright if the thought of Malfoy rejecting you is unsettling. It doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s a natural response. We all want to be liked, we all want to be accepted. Being accepted by someone who bullied you in your past makes sense,” he reassured her. 

“I suppose it does,” she nodded. 

“Tell me about the rest of the night,” he said, glancing down to her pajamas once more.

Hermione went on to explain the conversation she and Malfoy had while still at the banquet. Dr. Wilson agreed with Malfoy’s hypothesis that the rings were a means to track each of the Matches to be sure they were spending the majority of their nights together. She told him about her arrival at Malfoy Manor and their hasty departure. Dr. Wilson commented that it was brave of her to have gone to the Manor at all. Hermione explained that Malfoy took them to a hotel, took care of her dress and gave her the pajamas, and that they slept together. 

“Well, we didn’t sleep together,” she clarified, “there was only one bed, and I felt bad…” her thought trailed off. 

“Of course. Let’s revisit the conversation you had earlier in the night when you had first woken up in the hotel. It sounds as though Malfoy is pretty good at tuning into your tells, the signs of an oncoming panic attack. It also sounds like he takes responsibility for your diagnoses.” 

“Right, but I assured him that was ridiculous-” she started, but stopped herself after realizing she had interrupted him. 

“Ridiculous as it may be, it makes sense why he would see it that way. What I’m getting at, Hermione, is that it sounds as though he has changed, truly. I think it’s also safe to say that he cares.” 

Hermione mulled the word around in her head, not denying it but not entirely accepting it, either. Sure, he might care, but why? 

“Well, he’s stuck with me now, for the foreseeable future. He kind of has to care,” she amended. 

“While that may be up for debate, I think it’s clear that you have someone in your circle who understands, who is willing, and most importantly who is capable of seeing you through any panic attacks you may have in the future,” Dr. Wilson said, smiling. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, exactly,” Hermione said. 

“I’m not saying we should outright test this out. Putting you in a situation just for the sake of testing my theory out would be unwise, and as a medical professional, I cannot in good conscience advise you to do so. However, the whole goal of our meetings is finding ways to make progress. Increasing social interaction and getting you on the path towards normalcy is what we have been aiming for this whole time. I encourage you to try new things in the company of Mr. Malfoy. I wouldn’t say to jump right in and head back to the Manor, but by all means, go for lunch. Go to a public library. Take a walk in the park.” 

Hermione understood, but didn’t know how to process. This all sounded like a lot. She would have to ask Malfoy for his help in the first place. And then there was the matter of actually doing these activities. She had survived the banquet, barely, but because she was forced to. She had passed out at the Manor. Would she be able to handle these excursions? 

“I’d like to meet with Mr. Malfoy myself, actually,” Dr. Wilson interrupted her thoughts. She looked at him incredulously. 

“Dr. Wilson, I feel as though that would be asking a bit much of Malfoy. You’ve already suggested enlisting him as my social crutch, that in itself is asking too much,” she said. 

“I understand. It doesn’t have to be soon, but if the time presents itself in the future, maybe think about asking him,” Dr. Wilson replied. “Now, tell me about your plans for taking on the Wizengamot, do you have anything new?”

-

Hermione left the session feeling lighter. She hadn’t realized just how much she had been carrying with her until she had gotten it off her chest. Once she arrived home, she sent an owl to Malfoy telling him to stop by for a chat. 

He arrived about an hour later as she had asked. 

“Um, hello,” she said as he stepped through her floo. 

“Hi,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. There was an awkward lapse, the silence making Hermione more nervous than necessary.

“I uh-” she started, grabbing the folded t-shirt and pajamas she had washed from the chair, “Here. Thank you.”

He took them from her, shrinking them to fit into his pocket. 

“I made tea, or do you prefer coffee?” she asked him.

“Tea is just fine, thank you,” he said. She brought the tray over, and they fixed their own cups before settling. 

“Is there something you needed, Granger?” Malfoy asked her, exasperated by the awkward silence. 

She looked at him, taking in a deep breath. “I saw my therapist today, as you know, and he thought it would be a good idea for us to… to go out. Together.” 

“Go out?” He repeated.

“Yes, but not in that way. Not like a.... date. Dr. Wilson thinks it would be a good idea to acclimate me to social situations in the company of someone who would be willing and capable to handle or diffuse panic attacks should they become a problem,” she rushed the statement out in one breath, her nerves getting the better of her. 

Malfoy sipped his tea. 

“And he thinks that person is me?” He asked, setting his teacup down. 

Hermione chose her words carefully, “After explaining how the banquet went, and how we ended up at the hotel after leaving the Manor,” Malfoy’s face grew darker at the memory, “he thinks-” 

“That what,” he interrupted her, voice tight from controlling the wave of anger that washed over him, “That I should be the person there to hold your hand as you navigate your recovery?” 

The words hurt her, the feeling of being a burden heavy in her bones. He stood from the chair he was sitting on and walked toward the window, hands in his pockets. 

“Granger, why did you even agree to go with me to the Manor?” He turned suddenly to look at her, “And don’t say it was for the bloody library.” 

She paused, really considering why she had gone. It was a huge risk, and truthfully, she should have known better. 

“I don’t know,” she said, looking down into her cup.

“No,” he said, shaking his head, “You’re a lot of things, Granger. You’re stubborn, you’re bloody brilliant to the point it’s annoying, but you’re not careless. You’re meticulous, you think of all possible outcomes. I’m going to ask you again,” he fought to control his anger as he asked the question again, “Why did you follow me to the Manor?”

“Because I trusted you,” she said, raising her voice and stalking toward him, “I trusted you, so I went. It’s very simple, actually.” 

“Well obviously you shouldn’t have. Look what fucking happened,” he took a step toward her, getting right up in her face, “And your Doc is a fucking quack if he thinks it’s a good idea for me to accompany you on your experimental outings.” 

Their chests were heaving, their breaths mingling as they fought to control their tempers. 

“None of this is any of your fault, Malfoy, I already told you that,” she said, then she shoved a finger into his chest, “and if you would just listen to me-,” she shouted the last words, but he interrupted her again.

“No, Granger, you do not decide what is and isn’t my fault,” he said through gritted teeth.

She crossed her arms, keeping the eye contact they had been holding, “That’s all well and fine, Malfoy, but I do get to decide how I want to do this. Maybe I DO want you to be there, and maybe I DO want to go back to the Manor. You said yourself, the library is extensive, it’s perfect for research purposes.”

She hadn’t actually thought through whether or not she wanted to return to the Manor, but in the hopes of winning their argument, she wanted to convince him that she was fine. It was obvious she was unsuccessful, because the mention of Hermione returning to the Manor had Malfoy’s face screwing up in shock and frustration.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Granger? You want to go back there?” 

“Well, maybe not right this second, but eventually, yes,” she replied, holding her chin in the air in defiance. 

“Not bloody likely,” he said, “You’re not going back there.” 

“And why not?” she challenged. 

“Because you passed out, Granger, you passed out from a panic attack! Fucking hell, have you not had enough?” 

“Enough of what?” she pressed.

“Enough! Don’t you see it? It’s all connected to me, all of it. Your diagnoses, the panic attacks, everything. The causes and the triggers to your problems are all connected to me in some way,” he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation, “You should be sprinting from me.”

“I said it before and I’ll say it again,” she said, walking towards him. She bit out the next sentence, enunciating each word clearly, “It’s not your fault.”

He grabbed her by the tops of her arms and shook her lightly, trying to make his point clear. 

“I was there, Granger. I was there that day and I let it happen. I watched it happen. I watched you lying there, trapped, on MY drawing room floor. Screaming and writhing, and I just watched.” 

She closed her eyes as he held her by the arms, trying not to relive that moment for a second time in 24 hours. 

Her eyes remained closed, but she couldn’t help the pained expression that screwed her face up as she spoke, “There was nothing you could have done.” She said it quietly, barely above a whisper. He released her then and took a step back, giving her the space she needed. 

She counted her breaths before opening her eyes. Malfoy had one hand perched on his hip, the other held his head as he slouched in defeat. Hermione was at a loss. She didn’t know how to do this. She didn’t know how to navigate this “marriage,” she didn’t know how to make Malfoy trust her judgment, and she didn’t know how to go about facing her fears. 

“Just let me try,” she whispered.

He looked up at her, his face worn. “Granger…” he pleaded.

“I have to try, and it’s easier if someone is with me as I do it.” 

“Can’t Weasley be there?” he suggested.

“That’s not a bad idea, but it’s not the best, either. She’s away a lot. That, and honestly, you’re good at handling me. As cliche as it sounds,” she chanced a glance at his reaction. 

He held her gaze, seemingly warring with himself on the inside. He settled on a decision and slumped in defeat.

“Fine,” he said, rubbing his eyes again with his hand, “Under one condition: I need to meet with your therapist before all of this begins.”


	9. Girl's Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love a good girl's night;)
> 
> Happy reading:)

After their discussion, Malfoy left Hermione’s house and she went about her normal Sunday afternoon business. She also sent an owl to Dr. Wilson to ask if he’d see Malfoy earlier than her upcoming Sunday session. 

Once through tidying the house and finishing a bit of laundry, she decided to owl Ginny as well for a bit of company. Ginny arrived just after dinner giving Hermione a tight hug. 

“It’s been less than twenty four hours since I’ve seen you, but it feels like weeks! How are you?” Ginny asked.

“I’m well. I feel the same way, so much has happened since the banquet last night,” Hermione said, sitting on the couch. “Actually, do you mind if I have a glass of wine, Gin? I could use it.” 

“Of course, by all means. Tell me what’s been going on. How is Malfoy? Where is Malfoy?” she asked as Hermione walked toward her kitchen. She brought back water for Ginny as well. 

“I don’t know what he’s up to right now, he left here a couple of hours ago. I’d actually love to go over everything to analyze with you. Things were crazy last night,” she said. She started her story, but Ginny stopped her shortly after she began. 

“Feel free to say no, but I think having Pansy over while we pick this apart would be a good idea. She knows Malfoy so well…” Ginny trailed off.

“You might be right, actually… I wonder if she’s busy, though, it’s kind of short notice,” Hermione pondered, sipping her wine.

“Might as well give it a go,” Ginny said, grabbing a magazine off the coffee table to flip through as they waited for an owl back from Pansy. An owl never came. Instead, Pansy came waltzing through the roaring floo less than half an hour later.

“Oh! Pansy, hello,” Hermione greeted her.

“Hello, Weasley, Mrs. Malfoy” Pansy said, gliding toward the women, “I’d fancy a glass of wine before gettin’ down into the dirty of this ‘girls night!’” Hermione made a face at the name, and Pansy smirked back. “Sorry Granger, I thought it was funny.” 

“Hey Pans, here’s a glass,” Ginny poured her a glass of red wine and handed it to her. Hermione was a glass and a half deep already, and she was feeling it. Her cheeks were flushed and she was feeling light. She giggled at the thought of girls night, her problems seeming farther away and not as important anymore. 

“Thanks for coming, Pansy,” Hermione smiled at her gleefully.

“Merlin, Granger, I didn’t take you for a lightweight. I figured all of us were alcoholics after the war.” Pansy said, taking a long swig of wine. 

Hermione pondered this for a moment before shrugging it off. Alcohol really wasn’t her thing, but she was loving it at that moment. 

“Let’s start with Ginny,” Pansy said, “Update us on the Potter boy.” 

“What do you mean?” Ginny asked, “Nothing is new. I’m still pregnant. Harry is still… Harry.” Ginny shrugged.

Pansy looked at her smirking, “Of course…. Next!” She turned her attention to Hermione, who hiccuped after finishing her second glass of wine. 

“Let’s hear it Granger, how is Malfoy? And how are you?” Pansy asked, pouring herself a second glass to catch up with Hermione. 

“I,” Hermione said, slurring her words slightly, “am great. I am just wonderful.” 

“We can tell,” Pansy said, smirking, “But I’m not talking about just now.” 

“Well it’s only been a day, Pans, not much has happened I’m guessing.” Ginny said, grabbing her magazine again and settling in. Hermione giggled again, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, plenty happened,” she said. She started her tale, detailing their night of dancing and the conversations they had. She skimmed over the panic attack and Malfoy helping her out at the hotel. She slowed down to make sure she told exactly what happened with their argument earlier in the day. 

“Merlin, Granger, this all happened within 24 hours?” Pansy asked.

“Tell me about it,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes at the drama in her life. Things were at least peaceful when she was the only person she had to worry about. 

“I have to say, Hermione, I knew Malfoy would be tolerable- nice even. But he sounds like a dream so far. I mean yeah, you had that argument, but that wasn’t because he was mad at you or anything,” Ginny said, nodding approvingly.

Pansy crossed her legs, a smirk set on her own face, “I gotta agree, Granger. I knew he was a changed man, but I didn’t think he’d fall for you.” 

Hermione and Ginny spluttered, their drinks spraying. 

“Excuse me?” Hermione asked, wiping her mouth. 

Ginny was smiling, “I knew we needed Pansy here, I told you, she knows Malfoy.”

Hermione was frozen, staring at Pansy with her mouth hanging open. 

“Oh, come on, Granger. Yes, he’s changed, but he’s still a man. He wouldn’t go out of his way to care for you like that if he didn’t feel something. I’m not saying he loves you-” 

Hermione choked for a second time, cutting Pansy off. 

“Oh, calm down. I’m thinking we should set up a date night between all of us. Seeing it in action would give me a better idea of what’s going on. The six of us going out would be fun! Anyway…. Let’s talk about you, now. How do you feel about him, Granger?” Pansy asked, batting her eyelashes mockingly. 

“I- I don’t-” Hermione stopped, taking a long swig of her wine before heading to the kitchen to grab another bottle of wine.

Pansy called after her, “Come on, Granger, think about how he’s been taking care of you, and it’s only been a day!” Hermione walked back into the living room, settling in next to Ginny again. “And, you have to admit, he sure is yummy,” Pansy finished. Hermione’s eyes widened as Pansy waggled her eyebrows. She hadn’t let her mind wander there, but with the alcohol in her system and Pansy bringing the thought to the forefront of her mind, she couldn’t help herself.

“I mean,” she started, gaining both Ginny and Pansy’s full attention. “He is attractive. He’s really grown up,” she admitted. 

Pansy nodded approvingly, and Ginny smiled, shaking her head. 

“I hadn’t really thought about that,” Hermione told them truthfully.

“Goody-two-shoes-Granger, not thinking about sex? Who would’ve thought,” Pansy joked. Ginny hit her arm playfully. 

“Hey, I’m a lot of things, but I’m no virgin,” Hermione said, giggling. Pansy squealed at this, her face lighting up. 

“No fucking way, Granger, I don’t believe you. Spill, was it Weasley?” Pansy said, leaning forward eagerly. Ginny scowled slightly at the thought. 

Hermione giggled, “Well yes, but he wasn’t the first.” 

She went on to explain that Viktor Krum had been the one to pop her cherry. Pansy asked if he was any good in the sheets, and Hermione giggled before saying it would’ve been a decent experience if it wasn’t her first time and if she had known what she was doing.

“What about Weasley?” Pansy asked. 

Ginny groaned, “I’m gonna go refill my glass of water.” She left the room, and Hermione shook her head smiling at the memories. 

“He was fine, but nothing to call home about, really.” Hermione said quietly so Ginny wouldn’t hear as she returned from the kitchen.

“Well, you’re in for a treat, then. Malfoy knows what he’s doing.” Pansy said, smirking into her wine glass. 

Ginny giggled at Hermione’s reddening face. 

“You guys! Malfoy and I are not like that,” Hermione said, though her mind drifted in her drunken state. 

“Yet…” Pansy said, “Malfoy was a horndog in school, however, obviously he’s grown and matured. But honestly, Granger, pair him with someone he actually has feelings for, and I bet he falls into his old habits.” 

Hermione blushed even more at the thought, her mind running rampant now. Did she feel that way about Malfoy? Who’s to say Malfoy even felt like that at all? This was all just Pansy talking, could Hermione really put stock into her borderline drunken musings? 

“Anyway, my turn. Let me tell you about my first day as Mrs. Nott….” Pansy went on to explain how incredibly well things were going, the happy couple being undeniably in love. “Obviously I’ve always had a crush on him, I just didn’t know he felt the same way! He’s just so.. Intelligent, and kind. It’s sexy.” 

By the time Ginny and Pansy left for the night, Hermione was thoroughly intoxicated. She meandered to her bedroom to get herself ready to sleep, chugging water and an anti-hangover potion before climbing into bed. 

She wordlessly set her alarm and her wards before falling into a dreamless sleep. 

-

She woke groggily the next morning, the anti-hangover potion not having done much to help her head. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she trudged to the bathroom. Her hair was a mess, and she scowled at herself in the mirror. 

She left the bathroom after using the loo and headed toward the kitchen to make a strong pot of coffee. 

“I didn’t know you preferred coffee to tea with a hangover,” a voice drawled from the living.

Hermione jumped and spun around, eyes wide. Malfoy was seated in her recliner, one leg slung over the other at the ankle, his hands holding the Prophet that he was skimming. He had a pair of wire glasses on, she had never seen him with glasses before. 

“Malfoy,” she released a pent up breath, holding a hand to her racing heart, “you startled me. What are you doing here?” She then remembered she was in her nighties, and her hands crossed over her chest self-consciously. 

“Apologies, Granger. I wanted to stop by to discuss living arrangements once more,” he folded the paper and removed his glasses to gaze at her. “Since we weren’t together last night, I’m worried they’ll be paying more attention to us now.”

Hermione nodded, understanding. “But, how did you get in?” 

“You changed your wards yesterday, remember?” He replied.

“Right….” she turned around again to continue fixing the pot of coffee. “Would you like a cup of coffee as well?” she asked with her back still turned to him. 

“Please,” he said. Hermione finished setting her muggle coffee maker up before heading back to her bedroom to don a robe.

She went back to the kitchen to pour their mugs of coffee before walking out into the living room. Malfoy nodded his thanks to her and added a bit of sugar before taking a sip. He put his glasses back on before grabbing the Prophet off the coffee table again, reading an article intently enough that the space between his eyebrows scrunched together. Hermione sipped her coffee lightly, peering at him. He cleared his throat. 

Hermione averted her gaze and cleared her own throat, “Are you… in a hurry? Don’t you have to be at the Ministry soon?” She glanced at the clock on the wall. 

“I took the morning off. We’ve been slow enough that they won’t need me until after lunch, anyway,” he said, turning the page. 

“Oh,” she replied. 

They sat in silence for a while, sipping their coffee. It was tranquil, and Hermione was grateful for the slow morning after such a rowdy night. 

“Granger, are you feeling alright? You look….” He trailed off, obviously not wanting to offend her. 

Hermione chuckled lightly, “I know, I saw myself in the mirror,” she ran a hand through her hair and blushed, remembering its unruliness. “I had a late night with Ginny and Pansy.”

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, peering over his glasses at her. “Oh?” He said, looking back down at his paper. 

“Yeah, a sort of ‘girl’s night,’” she smiled at the memory. 

“Did you have fun?” Malfoy asked, peering at her again. 

She blushed at the memory of their conversations and Pansy being so forward about Malfoy and his “intentions.” He knit his eyebrows together at the hesitation and the color that rose to her cheeks. 

“Yes, I had fun,” she replied, sipping her coffee. “Uh, I need to be at the bookstore soon, so...”

“Right. So, I still stand by what I said yesterday. I have yet to talk to your therapist, but if he’s any good, I think he’ll agree with me that you’re not ready for the Manor.” Hermione made a face at his words, so he followed up with, “Yet. Our next option is staying here.” He stopped to gauge her reaction and waited to hear her thoughts about his moving in. 

“That would be fine,” she held his gaze, “but it’s temporary. Remember, I will be at the Manor eventually. That’s the goal. I need the library.” 

She saw him roll his eyes minutely. “Like I said, stubborn,” he said, turning back to the Prophet. “I’ll bring a few things over this morning once you leave for work, if that’s alright. I’ll try not to be too much of a burden-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she interrupted him, standing to get ready for Minx’s, “bring what you want, do what you want. I don’t mind.” 

He nodded, turning another page of the Prophet. Before she made it to the hallway, Malfoy called after her, “Oh, Granger. I’m sorry about this, but…” he hesitated, and she turned around to face him, “My mother…. I told her no, that it would be too much. She wants to meet with you, with us.” He set down the paper and rubbed his temples, “I debated whether or not to tell you at all, but she threatened to send you an owl herself. She did say that you’re allowed to say no, she uh… she understands. She just wanted me to ask.” 

Hermione nodded, debating. “I’ll think about it while at work today?” She offered. “I’ll let you know tonight when I get home.” He nodded at her, turning back to the Prophet. She turned and walked down the hall, thinking about the conversation they had just had. It was a normal conversation between husband and wife, but given the circumstances, it was unsettling. They had slipped into each other’s lives and taken up their respective roles with little animosity toward each other. 

She turned the shower knob, stripping and entering before the water warmed. Her thoughts distracted her enough that she barely registered the cool water hitting her skin. Malfoy would be moving in and she would possibly be meeting his mother. She shook her head to rid her of the nervous thoughts threatening to overtake her mind and lathered her vanilla soap in her hand to begin scrubbing herself down. She was thankful for the day ahead at Minx’s, the distraction of work being exactly what she’d need.


	10. Dinner for Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but I'll be updating frequently while on Spring Break!
> 
> Happy Reading:)

Work was hardly a distraction as Hermione had hoped. It was eerily slow for a Monday, and it gave her more than enough time to ponder the weekend’s events. She owled her therapist about meeting with Malfoy, and hoped he’d agree to hold a session sometime this week. She sorted, stacked, and reshelved books upon books upon books as she weaved through each memory. 

The Matching, the Manor, the hotel, the argument and compromise, the girl’s night, potential tea with his mother… 

Tea with his mother.

Hermione’s hands stalled, the book she was holding floating in mid-air as she let it go while lost in thought. Would she go to tea? What did Mrs. Malfoy want to talk about? Surely she would understand their Matching and wouldn’t hold it against Hermione. It was, after all, entirely out of her control. Malfoy’s blood prejudices had obviously dissipated over the years but had Mrs. Malfoy’s to that extent? Sure, maybe if she was an acquaintance, or simply a friend, Mrs. Malfoy would bite her tongue about her parentage. But Hermione was Malfoy’s _wife _. Even though they most likely wouldn’t get to that point, she was expected to be the mother of his _children _.____

____If Hermione would be staying in the Manor, and she was determined to do so, she’d eventually have to see his mother. It was inevitable. Upon realizing this, Hermione decided tea would be a good idea. Malfoy had made it sound like he’d be there anyway, so surely she could handle it if he’d be there as a mediator._ _ _ _

____Minx appeared at the top of the stairs that led to his flat above the shop, and slowly made his way down. “Hermione!” he said, walking towards her, “you’re still here?”_ _ _ _

____Hermione hadn’t realized the time. It was nearing five-thirty, she was supposed to leave half an hour ago._ _ _ _

____“Oh, Minx, you know me,” she said with a wave of her hand, wrapping up the task she was doing._ _ _ _

____“I do indeed, dear. Go, I can imagine you had a busy weekend and might like to rest,” Minx smiled at her, taking the books from her hands. Truthfully, Hermione was eager to go home. She wanted to speak with Malfoy about tea and about their plan of action moving forward._ _ _ _

____“I suppose,” she said, gathering her things. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”_ _ _ _

____“Have a good night, dear. Say hi to Mr. Malfoy for me,” he waved her out the door. A small smile played on her lips at the thought of seeing Malfoy tonight and saying, ‘my boss says hello.’ It really wasn’t that amusing, but the circumstances had her giggling regardless. It was all so… domestic. That, and the fact that she’d be associated with Malfoy until they had this law taken care of._ _ _ _

____Hermione floo’d home and found the flat had changed as expected. Not a lot, but enough that Hermione noticed. There were more books littering her end tables, and a few boxes piled in the corner. The only thing that truly caught Hermione off-guard was the state of her couch._ _ _ _

____“Malfoy?” Hermione called. Not hearing a reply, she inspected the couch further. It was made up like a bed. A shite one, at that. Hermione snorted. Malfoy’s long limbs wouldn’t fit on her tiny couch. He didn’t want to impose, she guessed, but truly they had already slept together. She just assumed they would continue in that fashion. It had worked fine, and it was the most convenient option. She’d stay on her end of the bed, and he’d stay on his. Although, that last part hadn’t really worked the first time. Regardless, he would not be sleeping on her couch. She shook her head and unmade the couch, tossing the pillow he had brought onto her own bed._ _ _ _

____She set about making dinner, dinner for two. A change she would hopefully get used to, at least for now. A simple roast chicken with a few side dishes would do. Hermione was no Molly Weasley, but she kept herself busy in isolation by cooking._ _ _ _

____While pulling ingredients together and starting the meal, she thought more about Malfoy’s couch-bed, or lack thereof, now. Would he be alright sleeping with her? Maybe she shouldn’t have unmade the couch. She worried her lip and thought again of Pansy’s drunken musings, her cheeks warming at the notion._ _ _ _

____If Malfoy felt that way at all, he certainly hadn’t let on. Either he was being gentlemanly, or he wasn’t interested in her in the first place. She figured the latter was more likely, and Hermione stirred the rice she had set to making with a bit more force than intended. She was being ridiculous, of course he didn’t feel for her in that way. But did she feel for him that way? A rush of heat flowed through her body at the thought of it, warming her cheeks further and spreading to the pit of her stomach._ _ _ _

____Her thoughts were interrupted as her floo roared to life behind her. She set the wooden spoon down on the dish beside the stove-top and turned to face the living room. Malfoy stepped through the mantle, rubbing a bit of soot from his outer robes._ _ _ _

____“Hello,” Hermione said, taking a few steps toward the living room._ _ _ _

____“Hi,” he replied, setting his few belongings down._ _ _ _

____“How was work?” she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the threshold between the two rooms._ _ _ _

____“It was fine, a bit busy near the end, but-” he stopped mid-sentence, noticing the couch. “Where…?” His question died on his tongue._ _ _ _

____“I moved your pillow onto my bed. You shouldn’t be sleeping on a couch the next week or so, or however long it takes to prepare me for the Manor.”_ _ _ _

____“Granger, you don’t have to share your bed with me,” he insisted, running his hand through his hair._ _ _ _

____“I don’t mind, honestly. I’d feel bad if you were forced to contort yourself on my tiny couch,” she reasoned, padding at a knot in the wood of her floor._ _ _ _

____“I could transfigure it to be larger,” he said._ _ _ _

____“I suppose, but it’s not the same as a mattress.” She looked up at him then, “Just deal with it, Malfoy. It’s done.”_ _ _ _

____He looked as though he wanted to argue further, but Hermione turned back toward the kitchen to check on the chicken and tend to the rice before he could get another word in._ _ _ _

____He followed wordlessly behind her, taking up the spot in the threshold that she had been leaning against upon his arrival. She kept her back to him, stirring slowly. They stood like that in silence for a few minutes, the scrape of the spoon in the pot filling the room._ _ _ _

____“It smells good,” Malfoy broke the silence first._ _ _ _

____“Good,” Hermione said, setting the spoon down and lowering the heat on the stove, “It should all be ready soon, I hope you’re hungry.”_ _ _ _

____“I am,” he said, and she could hear him stepping into the room. She waited with baited breath, tracking the movement by sound. He stopped behind her, a step or two back. She stooped to check the chicken, stepping back to lower the door to the oven. In doing so, her arse ended up a few inches from his thighs, the proximity not lost to her. She was hyper aware of both of their movements as he shuffled back a few steps and she straightened while closing the oven door. Her cheeks were warm as she turned to meet his eyes and she hoped he’d accredit that to the heat from the oven._ _ _ _

____He shook his head just slightly, but Hermione caught it. Running a hand through his already disheveled hair, he quietly said, “We could transfigure your bed into two. It wouldn’t be hard.”_ _ _ _

____She cut her eyes, scrutinizing. They could transfigure the bed, yes, but the thought didn’t sit right with her. Maybe she was being defensive, but she couldn’t stop her speculation as she turned back to take the rice off the heat. “We could have done that at the hotel as well.” She felt her shoulders tense. It shouldn’t have bothered her so much, they weren’t actually married. I mean they were, but not in the way that mattered._ _ _ _

____“We could have…” He said trailing off, confusion clear in his voice._ _ _ _

____Uncomfortable with the conversation, Hermione cleared her throat and grabbed some plates from the cupboards. Turning toward Malfoy again, she schooled her expression and looked him in the eye as she handed him the plates. “Food’s ready.”_ _ _ _

____-_ _ _ _

____They ate their meal in silence for the most part, the wine keeping them company in the absence of conversation. Hermione wasn’t drunk, but she was definitely buzzed as the wine had been her only solace during the uncomfortable meal._ _ _ _

____Malfoy cleared his throat, breaking the silence first, “Granger, did I do something?”_ _ _ _

____She peered at him before dropping her gaze to her pinot noir once more, swilling the drink in the glass and taking a sip. “No,” she answered, looking at him again while setting her glass down, “Why?”_ _ _ _

____“If looks could kill, I’d be dead,” he muttered attempting to hide his smirk. Hermione caught it though, and couldn’t help but feel as though he was having a laugh at her expense._ _ _ _

____“It’s nothing,” she said, rising to her feet with her plate in hand, “I just hadn’t realized I was such bad company.”_ _ _ _

____He scoffed, “Bad company?”_ _ _ _

____She waved her wand, the dishes magically washing themselves. “That’s what I said,” she sighed, attempting indignation. She didn’t know where she found the confidence, but arguing with him felt good._ _ _ _

____“And what did I do, pray tell, to make you think you’re ‘bad company,’” he bit out, matching her attitude._ _ _ _

____“Gods,” she said, exasperated, “It’s hard to believe you enjoy my company with that tone.”_ _ _ _

____“Hey, you started this. Merlin knows why,” he said, his hands raising before crossing over his chest._ _ _ _

____“It’s just,” she said, stepping into him and raising her voice, “this is hard, and it’s much harder knowing that you can’t stand to be around me.”_ _ _ _

____“What the hell makes you think that?” He raised his voice to match hers._ _ _ _

____“You won’t sleep with me!” She said, but then paused, covering her mouth as she realized how that sounded._ _ _ _

____His face shifted, she thought she saw the ghost of a smirk before he settled on expressionless._ _ _ _

____“That’s not entirely what I meant,” she said, turning to wash the dishes by hand in order to give her something to do other than burn in her own embarrassment._ _ _ _

____“What did you mean, then?” he asked, quieter now, and much closer. She could hear him breathing right behind her, feel the heat of his torso against her back._ _ _ _

____“I just meant-” she said, turning, but she stopped abruptly upon meeting his gaze. He was looking at her, hard. Analyzing. Searching for something. Hermione’s eyebrows bunched in confusion, her lips parting slightly to ask what he was doing, but not being able to voice anything due to their close proximity._ _ _ _

____Whatever he was looking for, he must have found. His eyes darkened a bit in his realization, and he stepped that inch forward, closing the space between them._ _ _ _

____“You think I don’t like you,” he murmured, dipping his head down. Her eyes fluttered shut as she listened to his voice, his breath skirting along her neck. “Granger…” he trailed off, hand sliding up her arm. Her cheeks flushed, and she knew he’d see it, knew he’d know her body was reacting to this. Her hands went to his chest, resting lightly._ _ _ _

____Hermione’s eyes opened again, and she looked up at him through her lashes. She thought she could feel him leaning forward, leaning in. She felt herself leaning in too, until she stumbled forward. He had taken a step back, moving away from her. Her shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of what had happened hitting her. His back was to her, and Hermione could see his shoulders tense and relax as seemed to be fighting with himself._ _ _ _

____She cleared her throat, “Right,” she said, turning back toward the dishes. Her cheeks burned more as she realized she would have let the kiss happen. She wanted it to happen, and he didn’t. The silence stretched on until she turned the water off and spun to face him once more. She set her shoulders, refusing to show how hurt she was. He had already been facing her, watching her as she was scrubbing. Now that she had turned, he opened his mouth to start speaking, but Hermione stopped him with a hand up._ _ _ _

____“Forget it,” she said, “It doesn’t matter.” It did. “Sleep in the bed, sleep on the couch, I don’t care.” She did. “I’m sending an owl to your mother tonight about tea. Does Saturday work for you? I assume you’ll escort me.” She hoped._ _ _ _

____“Of course. But not at the Manor,” he said, setting his jaw._ _ _ _

____“At the Manor,” she said, crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows in challenge._ _ _ _

____His eyes narrowed, shoulders squaring. “Granger, you’re not ready.”_ _ _ _

____“Fuck you, maybe I am, Malfoy” she said._ _ _ _

____“I haven’t met with your therapist yet and it’s only been what, two days? Less than that.” Malfoy said, his voice raising again. Merlin, they’d been married for all of two days and they’ve spent quite a bit of time arguing already._ _ _ _

____“You’re not my keeper, Malfoy, and we’ll meet with my therapist before tea with your mother. I owled him earlier, and I’m hoping he’ll agree to meet this week yet, before Saturday. Think you can stand to be around me for the duration of the session?” She all but spit the last part out at him, the animosity clear in her voice._ _ _ _

____“You-” he pointed a finger at her, but stopped as he fought to control himself. His chest heaved and his jaw set, his eyes scanning her face._ _ _ _

____“I what, Malfoy?” she said. A smirk landed on her face, triumphant._ _ _ _

____He stalked toward her then, grabbing the sides of her face in his hands. The smirk dropped from her lips as he ghosted his own lips against them. She froze, and he waited. The shock subsided and she moved slightly, tentatively, but not away from him. Her hands went to his chest where they had been before, but instead of resting them there lightly, she grabbed at his dress shirt._ _ _ _

____He deepened the kiss, moving a hand behind her head and tugging lightly to bend her head back. She moaned into him, her hands snaking around his neck. He nipped lightly at her bottom lip, eager for entrance. She complied, her lips parting slightly. His tongue swept into her mouth seeking her own tongue, and she relished in the taste of wine mixed with the taste of him._ _ _ _

____He pulled away abruptly, her lips chasing his as she frowned at the loss. He looked at her, searching her eyes._ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry,” he said, a slight pink on his cheeks, “I didn’t mean to… I don’t want to argue anymore, I’ll sleep in the bed.”_ _ _ _

____He left the room abruptly with Hermione still frozen and her hands slightly raised._ _ _ _


End file.
